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VoL 7, No. 357. Hareh 23, 18S4. Annual Subscription, 


FTE 


HARRIET MARTINEAU, 


Author op “HISTORY OF ENGLAND ” “TALES 
OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION,” &c., &c. 


SUltered at the Post Office, N. Y., as second-class matter. ^ 
W\ Copyright, by Johm W, Lovieix Co. ^ 


+ To 1\N • W • 1^ OV£ L, L * CoT^PANYh 

gj.- 14 . £^16 veSEYSTREETJ 


I ^ < 


4 


@SiOTH BlHDIlfO for tkii volmo csn bo oI4cIroI from toy booktottor or oowtctoilori »rieo l9olk 






LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 


1. Hyperion, Longfellow .20 

2, Outre-Mer, do ,20 

8. The Happy Boy, BjOm- 

6on 10 

4. Arne, by BjOrnson ... .10 

5. Frankenstein, Shelley. .10 

6. Last of the Mohicans. .20 

7. Clytie, Joseph Hatton. .20 

8. The Moonstone, Part I .10 

9. The Moonstone, PartH .10 

10. Oliver Twist, Dickens. ,20 

11. Coming Race, Lytton. .10 

12. Leila, by Lord Lytton. .10 

13. The Three Spaniards.. .20 

14. The Tricks of the 

Greeks Unveiled 20 

15. L’Abbe Constantin... .20 

16. Freckles, by Redcliff. .20 

17. The Dark Colleen, Jay .20 

18. They were Married I.. ,10 

19. Seekers after God 20 

20. The Spanish Nun 10 

21. Green Mountain Boys .20 

22. Fleurette, Scribe 20 

23. Second Thoughts 20 

24. The New Magdalen. . . .20 

25. Divorce, Margaret Lee .20 

26. Life of Washington. . . .20 

27. Social Etiquette 15 

28. Single Heart and Dou- 
ble Face, Chas. Reade ,10 

29. Irene, by Carl Detlef . . .20 

30. Vice Versa, F. Anstey .20 

31. Ernest Maltravers 20 

32. The Haunted House. .10 

33. John Halifax, Mulock J20 

34. 800 Leagues on the 

Amazon, by Verne.. ,10 

35. The Cryptogram 10 

36. Life of Marion 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. Tale of Two Cities 20 


39. The Hermits, Kingsley ,20 

40. An Adventure in 

Thule, and Marriage 
of M. Fergus, Black. .10 

41. Marriage in High Life, .20 

42. Robin, by Mrs. Parr.. .20 

43. Two on a Tower 20 

44. Rasselas, Dr. Johnson .10 

45. Alice; or. Mysteries.. .20 

46. Duke of Kandos 20 

47. Baron Munchausen... .10 

48. A Princess of Thule. . . .20 

49. The Secret Despatch.. .20 

50. Early Days of Chris- 

tianity 20 

Do., Part II 20 

51. Vicar of Wakefield. . . .10 

52. Progress and Poverty. .20 

53. The Spy, by Cooper.. .20 

54. East Lynne, Mrs Wood .20 

55. A Strange Story 20 

56. Adam Bede, Eliot, P’t I .15 

Do , Part II 15 

67. The Golden Shaft 20 

58. Portia, by The Duchess .20 
69. Last Days of Pompeii, .20 
60. The Two Duchesses... .20 


61. Tom Brown’s School 

Days .... .20 

62. The V) ooing O’t, P,t I .15 
The Wooing O’t, P’t II ;15 

63. The Vendeta, Balzac. .20 

64. Hypatia, by Kingsley, .15 

Do., Part II 15 

65. Selma, by Mrs. Smith. .15 

66. Margaret and her 

Bridesmaids 20 

67. Horse Shoe Robinson .15 

Do., Part II.. 15 

68. Gulliver’s Travels 20 

69. Amos Barton, by Eliot .10 

70. The Berber, by Mayo. .20 

71. Silas Marner, by Eliot .10 

72. Queen of the County. . 20 

73. Life of Cromwell, Hood. 15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Bronte. -.20 

75. Child’s Hist. England. .20 

76. Molly Bawn, Duchess .20 

77. Pillone, byBergsOe... .15 

78. Phyllis, The Duchess. .20 

79. Romola, Eliot, Parc I. .15 
Romola, Eliot, Part II .15 

80. Science in Short Chap- 

ters 20 

81. Zanoni, by Lytton 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth... .20 

83. The Right and Wrong 

Uses of the Bible. . . . +20 

84. Night and Morning... .15 

Do., Part II 15 

85. Shandon Bells, Black. .20 

86. Monica, The Duchess. .10 

87. Heart and Science.. 20 

88. The Golden Calf 20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter. .20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey,Duches» .20 

91. Pickwick Papers, P’tl .20 

Do., Part II 20 

92. Airy, Fairy Lilian .20 

93. Macleod of Dare 20 

94. Tempest Tossed 20 

Do., Part II 20 

95. Letters from High Lat- 

itudes, Earl Dufferin .20 

96. Gideon Fleyce 20 

97. India and Ceylon 20 

98. The Gypsy Queen, 20 

99. The Admiral’s Ward.. .20 

100. Nimport, Bynner,P’tr.l5 

’ Nimport, Part II 15 

101. Harry Holbrooke 20 

102. Tritons, Bynner,P’tI. .15 

Tritons, I art II. 15 

103. Let N oth ’g You Dismay . 10 

104. Lady Audley’s Secret. ^ 

105. Woman’s Place To-day .20 

106. Dunallan,by Kennedy .15 

Do.,ParMI.‘ >1,5 

107. Housekeeping and 

Homemaking .15 

108. No New Thing, Norris .20 

109. Spoopendyke Papers. ,20 

110. False Hopes... 15 

111. Labor and Capital. . . . ';20 

112. Wanda, Ouida, Part I. ^15 
Wanda, Part II — \ . . .15 


113. More Words about 

the Bible i 

114. Monsieur Lecoq, P’t I .5 
Monsieur Lecoq, P’t II .S 

115. Outline of Irish Hist. .: 

116. The Lerouge Case 5 

117. Paul Clifford, Lytton. 

118. A New Lease of Life.. A 

119. Bourbon Lilies, .J 

120. Other People’s Money S 

121. The Lady of Lyons, .] 

122. Ameline du Bourg... .1 

123. A Sea Queen, Russell. S 

124. The Ladies Lindores.. S 

125. Haunted Hearts l 

126. Loys, Lord Beresford. .S 

127. Under Two Flags S 

Do. (Ouida), Part II,. . S 

128. Money, Lord Lytton.. .1 

129. In Peril of his Life... .2 

130. India; What Can it 

Teach Us? M. Muller .S 

131. Jets and Flashes 2 

132. Moonshine and Mar- 

guerites... 1 

133. Mr. Scarborough’s 

Family 1 

Do., Part II 1 

134. Arden, Mary Robinson .1 


135. Tower of Percemont. . .2 

136. Yolande, Wm. Black. .2 

137. Cruel London, Hatton .2 

138. The Gilded Clique 2 

139. Pike County Folks... .2' 

140. Cricket on the Hearth .H 

141. Henry Esmond. ... . . .21 

142. Strange Adventures of 

a Phaeton 2( 

143. Denis Duval, Thack- 

eray 1( 

144. Old Curiosity Shop .11 

Do., Part II 11 

145. Ivanhoe, Scott, P’t I. .11 

Do., Part II 11 

146. White Wings, Black. .2( 

147. The Sketch Book 2( 

148. Catherine, Thackeray .1C 

149. Janet’s Repentance.. .!( 

150. Barnaby Rudge, P’t I .!£ 
Barnaby Rudge, PtII .!£ 

151. Felix Holt, by Eliot. . .2C 

152. Richelieu, by Lytton. .1C 

153. Sunrise, Black, P’tl. .l£ 

Do., Part II... l.£ 

154. Tour of the World in 

Eighty Days, Verne .2C 


155. Mystery of Orcival... .2C 

156. Lovel, the Widower.. .!(] 

157. Romantic Adventures 


of a Milkmaid. Hardy .10 

158. David Copperfield 20 

Do., Parti II 2C 

159. Charlotte Temple 10 

160. Rienzi, Lytton, Part I .15 

Do., Part II 15 

161. Promise of Marriage. .10 

162. Faith and Unfaith... .20 

163. The Happy Man 10 

164. Barry Lyndon 20 


Berkeley the Banker; 

OR, 

BANK NOTES AND BULLION. 


A TALE FOR THE TIMES. 



HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

u 


NEW YORK : 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 AND 16 Yesev Street. 


V, 



BERKELEY THE BANKER. 


PART I. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 

‘‘The affair is decided, 1 suppose,” said 
IMrs. Berkeley to her husband, as he folded up 
the letter he had been reading aloud. “It is 
well that Horace’s opinion is so boldly given, 
as w’e agreed to abide by it.” 

“ Horace knows as much about my private 
affairs as I do myself, and a great deal more 
about the prospects of the banking business,” 
replied Mr. Berkeley. “We cannot do better 
than take his advice. Depend upon it, the con- 
nexion will turn out a fine thing for my family, 
as Horace says. It is chiefly for your sakes, 
my dear girls.” 

“May I look again at Horace’s letter?” 
asked Fanny, as her father paused to muse. 


8 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


I did not understand that he thought it could 
be more than a safe, and probably advanta- 
geous, connexion. Ah! here it is. — ‘ I like the 
prospect, as affording you the moderate occu- 
pation you seem to want, and perhaps enabling 
you to leave something more to my sisters than 
your former business yielded for them. Times 
were never more prosperous for banking; and 
you can scarcely lose any thing, however little 
you may gain, by a share in so small and safe 
a concern as the D bank.’ ” 

Fanny looked at her father as she finished 
reading this, as much as to inquire where was 
the promise of fine things to arise out of the 
new partnership. 

“Horace is very cautious, you know,” ob- 
served Mr. Berkeley: “he always says less 
than he means — at least when he has to give 
advice to any of the present company; all of 
whom he considers so sanguine, that, I dare 
say, he often congratulates us on having such 
a son and brother as himself to take care of us.” 

“He yields his office to Melea only,” ob- 
served Mrs. Berkeley, looking towards her 
younger daughter, who was reading the letter 
once more before giving her opinion. “Tell 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


9 


US. Melea, shall your father be a banker or still 
an idle gentleman?” 

“Has he ever been an idle gentleman?” 
asked Melea. “ Can he really want something 
to do when he has to hurry from one commit- 
tee-room to another every morning, and to visit 

the workhouse here and the gaol at D , 

and to serve on juries, and do a hundred things 
besides, that prevent his riding with Fanny and 
me oftener than once a month?” 

“ These are all very well, my dear,” said her 
father; “but they are not enough for a man 
who was brought up to business, and who has 
been accustomed to it all his life. I would not, 
at sixty-five, connect myself with any concern 
which involved risk, or much labour; but I 
should like to double your little fortunes, when 
it may be done so easily, and the attempt can 
do no harm.” 

“ I wish,” said Fanny, “you would not make 
this a reason. Melea and I shall have enough 
and if we had not, we should be sorry to possess 
more at the expense of your entering into busi- 
ness again, after yourself pronouncing that tlie 
time had come for retiring from it.” 

“ Well, but, my dears this will not be like 


io 


THE IIALEIIAM TEOPI.E 


my former business, now up and now down; so 
that one year I expected nothing less than to 
divide my plum between you, and the next to 
go to gaol. There will be none of these fluc- 
tuations in my new business.” 

‘‘ I am sure I hope not,” said Fanny anxiously. 

“ Fanny remembers the days,” said her mo- 
ther, smiling, “when you used to come in to 
dinner too gloomy to speak while the servants 
were present, and with only one set of ideas 
when they were gone, — that your girls must 
make half their allowance do till they could get 
out as governesses.” 

“ That was hardly so bad,” observed Fanny, 
“ as being told that we were to travel abroad 
next year, and have a town and country-house, 
and many fine things besides, that we did not 
care for half so much as for the peace and quiet 
we have had lately. Oh! father, why cannot 
we go on as we are.^” 

“We should not enjoy any more peace and 
comfort, my dear, if we let slip such an oppor- 
tunity as this of my benefiting my family. An- 
other thing, which almost decided me before 
Horace’s letter came,” he continued, addressing 
his wire, is, that Dixon’s premises are let at 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


11 


last, and there is going to be a very fine busi- 
ness set on foot there by a man who brings a 
splendid capital, and will, no doubt, bank with 

us at D . I should like to carry such a 

connexion with me; it would be a creditable 
beginning.” 

‘‘So those dismal-looking granaries are to be 
opened again,” said Melea; “ and there will be 
some stir once more in the timber-yards. The 
place has looked very desolate all this year.” 

“We will go to the wharf to see the first 
lighter unloaded,” said Fanny, laughing. — 
“ When I went by lately, there was not so much 
as a sparrow in any of the yards. The last 
pigeon picked up the last grain weeks ago.” 

“ W'e may- soon have pigeon-pies again as 
often as we like,” observed Mr. Berkeley. 
“ Cargoes of grain are on the way; and every 
little boy in Haleham will be putting his pig- 
eon-loft in repair when the first lighter reaches 
the wharf. The little Cavendishes will keep 
pigeons too, I dare say.” 

“ That s a pretty name,” observed Mrs. 
Berkeley, who v/as a Frenchwoman, and very 
critical in respect of English names. 

“Montague Cavendish, Esq. I hope, my 


12 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


dear, that such a name will dispose you favour- 
ably towards our new neighbour, and his wife, 
and all that belongs to him.” 

‘‘ O yes; if there are not too many of them. 
I hope it is not one of your overgrown English 
families, that spoil the comfort of a dinner- 
table.” 

Mr. Berkeley shook his head, there being, at 
the least, if what he had heard was true, half-a- 
dozen each of Masters and Misses Cavendish; 
insomuch that serious doubts had arisen whether 
the dwelling-house on Dixon’s premises could 
be made to accommodate so large a family. The 
master of the ‘‘ Haleham Commercial, French, 
and Finishing Academy” was founding great 
hopes on this circumstance, foreseeing the pos- 
sibility of his having four or five Masters Cav- 
endish as boarders in his salubrious, domestic, 
and desirable establishment. 

The schoolmaster was disappointed in full 
one-half of his expectations. Of the six Mas- 
ters Cavendish, none were old enough to be 
removed from under their anxious mother’s 
eye for more than a few hours in the day. The 
four elder ones, therefore, between four and 
nine years old, became day-scholars only; bear- 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


13 


ing with them, however, the promise, that if 
they were found duly to improve, their younger 
brethren would follow as soon as they became 
unmanageable by the ‘‘treasure ’’ of a gover- 
ness, Mrs. Cavendish’s dear friend. Miss Egg, 
who had so kindly, as a special favour, left an 
inestimable situation to make nonpareils of all 
Mrs. Cavendish’s tribe. 

How these children were to be housed no 
one could imagine, till a happy guess was made 
by the work-people who were employed in 
throwing three rooms into one, so as to make a 
splendid drawing-room. It was supposed that 
they were to be laid in rows on the rugs before 
the two fire-places, the boys at one end and the 
girls at the other. This conjecture was set 
aside, however, by the carpenters, who were 
presently employed in partitioning three little 
rooms into six tiny ones, with such admirable 
economy of light that every partition exactly 
divided the one window which each of these 
rooms contained. It was said that an opportu- 
nity of practising fraternal politeness was thus 
afforded, the young gentlemen being able to 
open and shut their sisters’ window when they 
opened and shut their own, so that a drowsy 


J4 THE HALEHAM FEOPLE. 

little girl might turn in her crib, on a bright 
summer’s morning, and see the sash rise as if 
by magic, and have the fresh air come to her 
without any trouble of her own in letting it in. 
It was at length calculated that by Miss Egg 
taking three of the babies to sleep beside her, and 
by putting an iron-bedstead into the knife-pantry 
for the servant boy, the household might be ac- 
commodated; though the school-master went 
on thinking that the straightforward way would 
have been to send the elder boys to him, for the 
holidays and all; the builder advising an addi- 
tion of three or four rooms at the back of the 
dwelling; and everybody else wondering at the 
disproportion of the drawing-room to the rest 
of the house. 

When the total family appeared at Haleham 
Church, the Sunday after their arrival, the sub- 
ject of wonder was changed. Every one now 
said that the housing the family was an easy 
question in comparison with that of housing 
their apparel. Where could drawers ever be 
found large enough for the full-buckramed fancy 
dresses of the young gentlemen, and the ample 
frocks, flounced trousers, huge muslin bonnets 
and staring rosettes of the little ladies, whc 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


15 


walked up the aisle hand in hand, two abreast, 
tightly laced and pointing their toes prettily? 
Their father’s costume had something of the ap- 
pearance of a fancy dress, though it did not 
take up so much room. He was a very little 
man, with shoes and pantaloons of an agonizing 
tightness, and a coat so amply padded and col- 
lared to convert the figure it belonged to into 
as strong a resemblance to the shape of a carrot 
as if he had been hunchbacked. A little white 
hat perched on the summit of a little black head, 
spoiled the unity of the design considerably; but 
in church this blemish disappeared, the hat 
being stuck under one arm to answer to the wife 
on the other side. 

Mr. Berkeley, who was disposed to regard 
in a favourable light every one who caused an 
accession of prosperity to the little town of Hale- 
ham, would not listen to remarks on any dis- 
putable qualities of his new neighbours. He 
waited in some impatience the opportunity of 
learning with what bank this great merchant 
meant to open an account; and was in perpetu- 
al hopes that on the occasion of his next ride to 

D , whither he went three times a week 

to attend to his new business, he might be ac- 


16 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


companied by Mr. Cavendish. These hopes 
were soon at an end. 

Mr. Cavendish was going to open a bank at 
Haleham, to be managed chiefly by himself, but 
supported by some very rich people at a dis- 
tance, who were glad to be sleeping partners in 
so fine a concern as this must be, in a district 
where a bank was much wanted, and in times 
when banking was the best business of any. 
Such was the report spread in Haleham, to the 
surprise of the Berkeleys, and the joy of many 
of the inhabitants of their little town. It was 
confirmed by the preparations soon begun for 
converting an empty house in a conspicuous 
situation into the requisite set mf offices, the 
erection of the board in front with the words 
Haleham Bank, and the arrival a clerk or two 
with strong boxes, and other apparatus new to 
the eyes of the towns-people. Mr. Cavendish 
bustled about between his wharf and the bank, 
feeling himself the most consequential man in 
the town; but he contrived to find a few mo- 
ments for conversation with Mr. Berkeley, as 
oflen as he could catch him passing his premises 

on the way to D . This kind of intercourse 

had become rather less agreeable to Mr. Berk- 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


17 


eley of late; but as he had admitted it in the 
earliest days of their acquaintance, he could 
not well decline it now. 

“ I understand, my dear sir,” said Mr. Ca- 
vendish, one day, crossing the street to walk by 
his neighbour’s horse, that you have but lately 

entered the T> bank. It is a thousand 

pities that the step was taken before I came ; I 
should have been so happy to have offered you 
a partnership. So partial as we both are to the 
business, we should have agreed admirably, I 
have no doubt.” 

Mr. Berkeley bowed. His companion went 
on: ‘‘There would have been nothing to do, 
you see, but to step down a quarter of a mile, 
on fine days, just when you happened to be in 
the humour for business, instead of your having 

to toil backwards and forwards to D so 

often.” 

Mr. Berkeley laughed, and said that he nev- 
er toiled. He went when it suited him to go, 
and stayed away when it did not. 

“ Aye, aye; that is all very well at this time 
of year; but we must not judge of how it will 
be in every season by what it is at Midsum- 
mer. M hen the days get damp and dark, and 

VoL. L— B 


18 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


the roads miry, it becomes a very pleasant thing 
to have one’s offices at hand.” 

And a pleasanter still to stay by one’s own 
fireside, which I shall do on damp days,” coolly 
observed Mr. Berkeley. 

“You have such a domestic solace in those 
sweet daughters of yours!” observed Mr. Cav- 
endish: “ to say nothing of your lady, whose 
charming mixture of foreign grace with true 
English maternity, as Miss Egg was saying 
yesterday, (there is no better judge than Miss 
Egg,) would constitute her a conspicuous orna- 
ment in a far more distinguished society than 
we can muster here.” 

Again Mr. Berkeley bowed. Again his com- 
panion went on. 

“ Talking of society, — I hope you will think 
we have an acquisition in our new rector. 
Perhaps you are not aware that Longe is a re- 
lation of my wife’s, — a first cousin; and more 
nearly connected in friendship than in blood 
An excellent fellow is Longe; and I am sure 
you ought to think so, for he admires your 
daughter excessively, — Miss Berkeley I mean ; 
— though your little syren did beguile us so 
sweetly that first evening that Longe met you. 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


19 


He appreciates Miss Melea’s music fully; but 
Miss Berkeley was, as I saw directly, the grand 
attraction.” 

“You have made Chapman your watchman^ 
I find,” said Mr. Berkeley. “ I hope he will 
not sleep upon his post from having no sleep at 
present; but he is in such a state of delight at 
his good fortune, that I question whether he has 
closed his eyes since you gave him the appoint- 
ment.”^ 

“ Poor fellow ! Poor fellow ! It affords me 
great pleasure, I am sure, to be able to take 
him on my list. Yes; the moment he mention- 
ed your recommendation, down went his name, 
without a single further question.” 

“ I did not give him any authority to use my 
name,” observed Mr. Berkeley. “ He merely 
came to consult rhe whether he should apply ; 
and I advised him to take his chance. Our pau- 
per-labourers have taken his work from him, and 
obliged him to live upon his savings for a twelve- 
month past, while, as I have strong reasons for 
suspecting, he has been more anxious than ever 
to accumulate. You have made him a very 
happy man ; but I must disclaim all share in the 
deed.” 


‘-iO THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 

“ Well, well: he took no improper liberty, I 
assure you. Far from it; but the mention of 
your name, you are aware, is quite sufficient in 
any case\ But, as to sleeping on his post, — 
perhaps you will be kind enough to give him a 
hint. So serious a matter, — such an important 
charge — ” 

Mr. Berkeley protested he was only joking 
when he said that. Chapman would as* soon 
think of setting the bank on fire as sleeping on 
watch. 

‘‘ It is a misfortune to Longe,” thought he, 
as he rode away from the man of consequence, 
“ to be connected with these people. He is so 
far superior to them ! A very intelligent, 
agreeable man, as it seems to me; but Fanny 
will never like him if he is patronized by the 
Cavendishes, be his merits what they may. He 
must be a man of discernment, distinguishing 
her as he does already: and if so, he can hardly 
be in such close alliance with these people as 
they pretend. It is only fair she should be con- 
vinced of that.” 

And the castle-building farther bestowed al- 
most all his thoughts for the next half-hour on 
the new rector, and scarcely any on the curate. 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


21 


who was an acquaintance of longer standing, 
and an object of much greater interest in the 
family. 

This curate was at the moment engaged in 
turning over some new books on the counter of 
Enoch Pye, the Haleham bookseller. Mr. 
Craig was a privileged visiter in this shop, not 
only because Enoch could not exist without re- 
ligious ministrations, given and received, but 
because Enoch was a publisher of no mean con- 
sideration in his way, and was a very desirable 
thing to have his own small stock of learning 
eked out by that of a clergyman, when he stum- 
bled on any mysterious matters in works which 
he was about to issue. He put great faith in 
the little corps of humble authors with whom he 
was connected; but it did now and then happen 
that the moral of a story appeared to him not 
drawn out explicitly enough; that retribution 
was not dealt with sufficient force; and he was 
sometimes at a loss how to test the accuracy of 
a quotation. On this occasion, he would 
scarcely allow Mr. Craig to look even at the 
frontispiece of the new books on the counter, 
so eager was he for the curate ’s opinion as to 
what would be the effect of the establishment of 


22 


THE HAL EH AM PEOPLE. 


the bank on the morals and condition of the peo- 
ple of Haleham. 

The effect may be decidedly good, if they 
choose to make it so,” observed Mr. Craig. 

All fair means of improving the temporal con- 
dition are, or ought to be, means for improving 
the moral state of the people ; and nothing gives 
such an impulse to the prosperity of a place like 
this as the settlement in it of a new trading capi- 
talist.” 

‘'Aye, sir; so we agreed when the brewery 
was set up, and when Bligh’s crockery-shop was 
opened: but a bank. Sir, is to my mind a differ- 
ent kind of affair. A banker deals not in neces- 
sary meats or drinks, or in the vessels which con- 
tain them, but in lucre, — altogether in lucre^” 

“ By which he helps manufacturers and trades- 
men to do their business more effectually and 
speedily than they otherwise could. A banker 
is a dealer in capital. He comes between the 
borrower and the lender. He borrows of one 
and lends to another ” 

“ But he takes out a part by the way,” inter- 
rupted Enoch, with a knowing look. “ He 
does not give out entire that which he receives, 
but abstracts a part for his own profit.” 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


23 


Of course he must have a profit,” replied 
Mr. Craig, “ or he would not trouble himself to 
do business. But that his customers find their 
profit in it, too, is clear from their making use 
of him. They pay him each a little for a pro- 
digious saving of time and trouble to alJ.” 

“ Yes, yes,” replied Enoch; a man canno^ 
have been in such a business as mine for so 
many years without knowing that banks are a 
great help in times of need; and I am willing to 
see and acknowledge the advantage that may 
accrue to myself from this new bank, when I 
have payments to make to a distance, and also 
from a great ease which, in another respect, I 
expect it to bring to my mind.” 

“ I suppose you pay your distant authors by 
sending bank-notes by the post.” 

“Yes; and sometimes in bills: especially 
when there is an odd sum. There is risk and 
trouble in this, and some of my fair correspon- 
dents do not know what to do with bills when 
they have got them. See, here is one actually 
sent back to me at the expiration of the three 
months, with a request that I will send the mon- 
ey in notes, as the young lady does not know 


24 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


any body in London whom she could ask to 
get it cashed for her.” 

Henceforth she will be paid through the 
bank here and the bank nearest to her, instead 
of putting the temptation in your way to throw 
the bill into the fire, and escape the payment.” 

Enoch replied that he was thankful to say, it 
was no temptation to him; and Mr. Craig per- 
ceived that he was waiting to be questioned 
about the other respect in which the bank was 
to bring him ease of mind. 

“ Far be it from me,” replied the bookseller, 
to complain of any trouble which happens to 
me through the integrity for which it has pleas- 
ed Providence to give me some small reputation; 
but I assure you. Sir, the sums of money that 
are left under my care, by commercial travel- 
lers, Sir, and others who go a little circuit, and 
do not wish to carry much cash about with 
them, are a great anxiety to me. They say the 
rest of the rich man is broken through care for 
his wealth. I assure you. Sir, that, though not 
a rich man, my rest is often broken through 
such care; — and all the more because the wealth 
is not my own.” 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


25 


'‘An honourable kind of trouble, Mr. Pye; 
and one of which you will be honourably reliev- 
ed by the bank, where, of course, you will send 
your commercial friends henceforth to deposit 
their money. There also they can make their 
inquiries as to the characters of your trading 
neighbours, when they are about to open new 
accounts. You have often told me what a deli- 
cate matter you feel it to pronounce in such 
cases. The bank will discharge this office for 
you henceforth.” 

Enoch replied shortly, that the new banker 
and his people could not know so much of the 
characters of the townsfolks as he who had lived 
among them for more than half a century; and 
Mr. Craig perceived that he did not wish to turn 
over to any body an office of whose difficulties 
he was often heard to complain. 

“ Do not you find great inconvenience in the 
deficiency of change.^” asked the curate. “ It 
seems to me that the time of servants and shop- 
keepers is terribly wasted in running about for 
change.” 

“ It is, Sir. Sometimes when I want to use 
small notes, I have none but large ones ; and 
when I want a 203/. note to send by post, I may 


*26 THE HALEHAM PEOTLE. 

wait three or four days before I can get such a 
thing. I can have what I want in two minutes 
now, by sending to the bank. After the fair, 
or the market day, too, I shall not be overbur- 
dened with silver as I have often been. Thejr 
will give me gold or notes for it at the bank, to 
any amount.” 

‘‘If there were no banks,” observed Mr. 
Craig, “ what a prodigious waste of time there 
would be in counting out large sums of money! 
A draft is written in the tenth part of the time 
that is required to hunt up the means of paying 
a hundred pounds in guineas, shillings, and 
pence, or in such an uncertain supply of notes 
as we have in a little town like this. And, then, 
good and bad coin ” 

“Aye, Sir. I reckon that in receiving my 
payments in the form of drafts upon a banker, I 
shall save several pounds a year that I have been 
obliged to throw away in bad coin or forged 
notes.” 

“ And surely the townspeople generally will 
find their advantage in this respect, as well as 
yourself. But a greater benefit still to them may 
be the oppDrtunity of depositing their money, be 
it much or little, where they may receive interest 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


27 


for it. Cavendish’s bank allows interest on small 
deposits, does it not?” 

‘‘ On the very smallest,” replied Mr. Pye 
‘‘ People are full of talk about his condescension 
in that matter. He even troubles himself to ask 
his work-people, — aye, his very maid-servants, 
— whether they have not a little money by them 
that they would like to have handsome interest 
for.” 

“Indeed!” said Mr. Craig, looking rather 
surprised. “ And do they trust do they ac- 

cept the offer?” 

“Accept it! aye, very thankfully. Who 
would not ? There is Chapman that is appointed 
watchman: he had a few pounds of his savings 
left; and he put them into the bank to bear in- 
terest till Rhoda Martin’s earnings shall come 
to the same sum; so that they may have some- 
thing to furnish with.” 

“ And where will she put her earnings?” 

“ Into the bank, of course. You know she 
has got the place of nursemaid at the Caven- 
dishes; and she would not be so unhandsome, 
she says, as to put her money any where but 
into the same hands it came out of. So she 
began ‘lepositing ten pounds left her as a 


28 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


legacy. It is quite the fashion now for our work- 
people to carry what they have, be it ever so 
little, to the bank; and Mr. Cavendish is very 
kind in his way of speaking to them.” 

‘‘Well; you see here is another great advan- 
tage in the establishment of a bank, if it be a 
sound one. In my country, Scotland, the banks 
are particularly sound, so as to make it quite 
safe for the people to lodge their small deposits 
there, and society has the advantage of a quan- 
tity of money being put into circulation which 
would otherwise lie dead, as they call it, — that 
is, useless. Many millions of the money depos- 
ited in the Scotch banks are made up of the 
savings of labourers; and it would be a loss to 
the public, as well as to the owners, if all this 
lay by as useless as so many pebbles. I wish, 
however, that there were some places of deposit 
for yet smaller sums than the Scotch bankers 
will receive.* They will take no sum under 10/. 

“ If one man is kind-hearted enough to take 
the trouble of receiving such small sums,” ob- 
served Enoch, “ I think others might too. I 
was very wrong to hint any doubts about Mr. 

♦ Savings-banks were not instituted when this was said 
viz., in 1814. 


THE IIALEHAM PEOPLE. 


29 


Cavendish’s trading in lucre, when it is so clear 
that he thinks only of doing good. I take shame 
to myself, Mr. Craig.” 

“ At the same time, Mr. Pye, one would not 
be urgent with the people to trust any one person 
with all their money. In Scotland, there are a 
great many partners in a bank, which makes it 
very secure.” 

Enoch looked perplexed; and while he was 
still pondering what Mr. Craig might mean, his 
attention was engaged by a young woman who 
entered the shop, and appeared to have some- 
thing to show him for which it was necessary to 
choose an advantageous light. Mr. Craig heard 
Enoch’s first words to her, whispered across the 
counter, — ‘‘How’s thy mother to-day, my 
dear?” and then he knew that the young woman 
must be Hester Parndon, and began again to 
look at the new books till Hester’s business 
should be finished. 

He was presently called to a consultation, as 
he had been once or twice before, when Mr. Pye 
and the young artist he employed to design his 
frontispieces could not agree in any matter of 
taste that might be in question. 


30 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


‘‘ I wish you would ask Mr. Craig,” observed 
Hester. 

“ So I would, my dear; but he does not know 
the story.” 

“ The story tells itself in the drawing, 1 
hope,” replied Hester. 

‘‘Let me see,” said the curate. O yes! 
there is the horse galloping away, and the thrown 
young lady lying on the ground. The children 
who frightened the horse with their waving 
boughs are clambering over the stile, to get out 
of sight as fast as possible. The lady’s father 
is riding up at full speed, and her lover ” 

“ No, no; no lover,” cried Enoch, in a tone 
of satisfaction. 

“ Mr. Pye will not print any stories about 
lovers,” observed Hester, sorrowfully. 

“ It is against my principles. Sir, as in some 
sort a guardian of the youthful mind. This is 
the heroine’s brother. Sir, and I have no fault 
to find with him. But the young lady, — she is 
very much hurt, you know. It seems to me, 
now, that she looks too much as if she was think- 
ing about those children, instead of being re- 
signed. Suppose she was to lie at full length, 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


in 

instead of being half raised, and to have her 
hands clasped, and her eyes cast upwards.” 

“ But that would be just like the three last 1 
have done,” objected Hester. ‘‘The mother 
on her death-bed, and the sister when she 
heard of the sailor-boy’s being drowned, and 
the blind beggar-woman, — ^you would have 
them all lying with their hands clasped and 
their eyes cast up, and all in black dresses, ex- 
cept the one in bed. Indeed they should not be 
all alike.” 

So Mr. Craig thought. Moreover, if the 
young lady was amiable, it seemed to him to be 
quite in character that she should be looking 
after the frightened children, with concern for 
them in her countenance. Enoch waxed obsti- 
nate on being opposed. He must have the riding 
habit changed for a flowing black robe, and 
the whole attitude and expression of the figure 
altered to the pattern which possessed his imag- 
ination. 

“ What does your mother say to this drawing, 
Hester?” inquired Mr. Craig, when he saw the 
matter becoming desperate. 

“ She thinks it the best I have done; and she 
desired me to study variety above all things; 


32 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


and it is because it is so unlike all the rest that 
she likes it best.” 

Enoch took the drawing out of her hands at 
these words, to give the matter another consid- 
eration. 

Do persuade him,” whispered Hester to the 
curate. You do not know how people begin 
to laugh at his frontispieces for being all alike; 
all the ladies with tiny waists, and all the gen- 
tlemen with their heads turned half round on 
their shoulders. Do not be afraid. He is so 
deaf he will not know what we are saying.” 

‘‘ Indeed! I was not aware of that.” 

“No, because he is accustomed to your voice 
in church. He begins to say, — for he will not 
believe that he is deaf, — that you are the only 
person in Haleham that knows how to speak dis- 
tinctly, except the fishwoman, and the crier, and 
my mother, who suits her way of speaking to 
his liking exactly. But, Sir, the people in Lon- 
don laughed sadly at the frontispiece to ‘ Faults 
acknowledged and amended.’ ” 

O 

“ What people in London?” 

“ O! the people, — several people, — I know a 
good deal about the people in London, and they 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE, 


33 


understand about such things much better than 
we do.’ 

“ Then I wish that, instead of laughing at 
you for drawing as you are bid, they would em- 
ploy you to design after your own taste. You 
are fit for a much higher employment than this, 
and I wish you had friends in London to procure 
it for you.” 

Hester blushed, and sparkled, and looked 
quite ready to communicate something, but re- 
frained and turned away. 

‘‘ I like this much better, the more I look at 
It, ray dear,” said Enoch, relieving himself of 
his best spectacles, and carefully locking up the 
drawing in his desk: ‘‘ stay; do not go without 
your money. I shall make you a present over 
and above what we agreed upon; for, as your 
mother says, it is certainly your best piece 
Now, I don’t mean to guess what you are going 
to do with this money. There come times when 
girls have use for money. But if you should just 
oe going to give it to your mother to lay by, I 
could let you have a guinea for that note and 
shilling. Guineas are scarce now-a-days; but I 
have one, and I know your mother is fond of 
keeping them Will you take it for her?” 

VoL. L— C 


31 


THE liALEUAM PEOPLE. 


Hester was not going to put her money into 
her mother’s hands. Into the new bank per- 
haps? — No, she was not going to lay it by at 
ail. And she blushed more than ever, and left 
the shop. 

Enoch sighed deeply, and then smiled dubi- 
ously, while he wondered what Mrs. Parndon 
would do when her daughter married away from 
her to London, as she was just about to do. It 
was a sad pinch when her son Philip settled in 
London, though he had a fine goldsmith’s busi- 
ness ; but Hester was so much cleverer, so much 
more like herself, that her removal would be a 
greater loss still. 

“ Why should she not goto London too?” 
Mr. Craig inquired. 

O no, Enoch protested; it was, he believed, 
he flattered himself, he had understood, — quite 
out of the question. He added, confidentially, 
that it might be a good thing for the new bank 
if she would lodge her money there, for she had 
a very pretty store of guineas laid by. 

‘‘ Does she value them as gold, — I mean as 
being more valuable than bank-notes, — or as 
riches?” asked Mr. Craig. If the one, she 
will rather keep them in her own hands. If the 


THE KALEHAM PEOPLE 35 

otheij she will be glad of interest upon them.” 

“ She began by being afraid that the war 
would empty the country of money; and now 
that less and less gold is to be seen every day, 
she values her guineas more than ever, and 
would not part with them, I believe, for any 
price. As often as she and I get together to 
talk of our young days, she complains of the 
flimsy rags that such men as Cavendish choose 
to call money. ‘ Put a note in the scale,’ says 
she, ‘ and what does it weigh against a guinea? 
and if a spark flies upon it out of the candle, 
where is it?’ — Many’s the argument we have 
had upon this. I tell her that there is no real 
loss when a bank note is burned, as there is if 
an idle sailor chucks a guinea into the sea.” 

If a magpie should chance to steal away a 
five-pound note of yours,” said the curate, or 
if you should chance to let your pocket-book fall 
into the fire, you will have Mrs. Parndon com- 
ing to comfort you with assurances that there is 
no real loss.” 

To me, there would be, Sir. I do not deny 
that. I mean that no actual wealth would be 
destroyed, because the bank note I hold only 
promises to pay so much gold, which is safe ia 


36 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. 


somebody’s hands, whether there be a fire or 
not. When gold is melted in a fire, it may be 
worth more or less (supposing it recovered) than 
it was worth as coin, according to the value of 
gold at the time. If the enemy captures it al 
sea, it is so much dead loss to our country, and 
so much clear gain to the enemy’s. If a cargo 
of precious metals goes to the bottom, it is so 
much dead loss to everybody. So I tell Mrs. 
Parndon.” 

‘‘ As she is not likely to go to sea, I suppose 
she determines to keep her guineas, and guard 
against fire.” 

Enoch whispered that some folks said that 
fire would improve the value of her guineas 
very much, if she put them into a melting-pot. 
Guineas were now secretly selling for a pound 
note and four shillings ; and there was no doubt 
that Philip, the goldsmith, would give his mother 
as much for hers : but she hoped they would grow 
doarer yet, and therefore still kept them by her. 

The curate was amused at Enoch’s tolerant 
way of speaking of Mrs. Parndon ’s love of lucre, 
while he was full of scrupulosity as to the moral 
lawfulness of Mr. Cavendish’s occupation. The 
old man acknowledged, however, by degrees. 


THE HALEHAM PEOPLE. S7 

that it could do the Haleham people no harm to 
have their time saved, their convenience and 
secuiity of property promoted, their respecta- 
bility guaranteed, their habits of economy en- 
couraged, and their dead capital put in motion. 
All these important objects being secured by 
the institution of banking, when it is properly 
managed, prudent and honourable bankers are 
benefactors to society, no less, as Mr. Pye was 
brought to admit, than those who deal directly 
in what is eaten, drunk, and worn as apparel. 
The conversation ended, therefore, with mutual 
congratulations on the new bank, always sup- 
posing it to be well managed, and Mr. Caven- 
dish to be prudent and honourable. 


38 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 

Before the summer was much further advanc- 
ed, a new interest arose to draw off some of the 
attention of the people of Haleham from the 
great Mr. Cavendish, and the gay Mrs. Ca- 
vendish, and the whole tribe of charming 
Masters and Misses Cavendish. A favourite 
of longer standing was in everybody’s thoughts 
for at least three weeks. Hester’s marriage 
was evidently at hand; and besides a wedding 
being a rare thing in Haleham, at least any- 
thing above a pauper wedding, — the Parndons 
were an old-established and respected family, 
and Plester in particular was looked upon as an 
ornament to the little town. Her father had 
been engaged in some public service in which 
his talents as a draughstman had distinguished 
him, and which secured a small pension for his 
widow. As he found no capabilities in his son 
Philip which could serve as qualifications for 
assisting or succeeding him in his office, he 
bestowed his chief attention on his little girl. 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


39 


who early displayed a talent for drawing which 
delighted him. He died, however, before she 
had had time to make the most of his instruc- 
tions; and she stopped short at the humble 
employmerit of designing frontispieces for Mr 
Pye’s new books. Her mother liked the ar- 
rangement, both because it enabled her to keep 
her daughter with her without preventing Hes- 
ter from earning money, and because it afford- 
ed much occasion of intercourse with Mr. Pye, 
whom she liked to continue to see every day, 
if possible. Hester’s townsmen were very 
proud of her achievements, as well as of her 
sprightliness and pretty looks. 

Every one felt as if he had heard a piece of 
family news when it was told that the young 
man who had come down with Philip, the sum- 
mer before, and had been supposed to be a 
cousin, was going to carry off Philip’s sister. 
All were ready to believe it a very fine thing 
for Hester; — so well-dressed and handsome as 
Edgar Morrison was, — such a good place as 
he had in the Mint, — and such an intimate 
friend of her brother’s as he had long been. 
Hester was told twenty times a day that her 
friends were grieved to think of losing her, but 


40 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


that they would not be so selfish as not to re- 
joice in her engagement. No engagement 
ever went on more smoothly. Everybody 
approved; Edgar adored; Hester loved* con- 
fidently and entirely. There were no untoward 
delays. Just at the time fixed long before, 
Edgar came down to Haleham, and people 
said one to another after church, that as it was 
not probable he could be long spared from the 
Mint, the wedding would most likely be in the 
course of the week. On Tuesday, it got 
abroad that Philip was come ; and as he had, 
no doubt, in virtue of his occupation, brought 
the ring, it was no sign that Thursday was not 
to be the day that John Rich had sold no plain 
gold rings for more than a month. 

Thursday was indeed to be the day ; and as 
it was found, on the Wednesday morning, that 
everybody knew this by some means or other, 
no further attempt was made to keep the secret. 
Hester’s friends were permitted by her vain 
mother to understand that they might come and 
bid her farewell. Wednesday was the market- 
day at Haleham; and the present was a partic- 
ularly busy market-day ; that is, out of the twelve 
people who from time to time sold things in 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


41 


general on either side the main ‘Street, all were 
present, except a gardener whose pony was 
lame, and a tinman, mop and brush-seller, 
whose wife had died. This unusually full at- 
tendance was caused by a notice that the new 
notes of Cavendish’s bank would be issued this 
market-day. Some came to behold the sight 
of the issuing of notes, with the same kind of 
mysterious wonder with which they had gone to 
hear the lion roar at the last fair. Others ex- 
pected to suit their convenience in taking a new 
sort of money ; and most felt a degree of ambition 
to hold at least one of the smooth, glazed, crack- 
ling pieces of engraved paper that everybody 
was holding up to the light, and spelling over, 
and speculating upon. The talk was alternate- 
ly of Edgar and Mr. Cavendish, of the mint 
and the bank, of Hester’s wedding clothes and 
the new dress in which money appeared. A 
tidy butter and fowl woman folded up her cash, 
and padlocked her basket sooner than she would 
have done on any other day, in order to look in 
at Mrs. Parndon’s, and beg Hester to accept 
her best bunch of moss-roses, and not to forget 
that it was in her farm-yard that .she was first 
alarmed by a turkey-cock. A maltster, on 


42 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


whose premises Hester had played hide and 
seek with a lad, his only son, who had since 
been killed in the wars, hurried from the mar- 
ket to John Rich’s to choose a pretty locket, to 
be bestowed, with his blessing, on the bride; 
and others, who had less claim to an interview 
on this last day, ventured to seek a parting 
word, and were pleased to perceive every appear- 
ance of their being expected. 

Mrs. Parndon, in her best black silk and af- 
ternoon cap, sat by her bright-rubbed table, 
ready to dispense the currant wine and seed- 
cake. Philip lolled out of the window to see 
who was coming. Edgar vibrated between the 
parlour and the staircase ; for his beloved was 
supposed to be busy packing, and had to be 
called down and led in by her lover on the ar- 
rival of every new guest. It is so impossible 
to sit below, as if she expected everybody to 
come to do her homage ! and Edgar looked so 
particularly graceful when he drew her arm un- 
der his own, and encouraged her to take cheer- 
fully what her friends had to say! 

“Here is somebody asking for you,” said 
Edgar, mounting the stairs with less alacrity 
than usual. “ She hopes to see you, but would 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM, 


43 


be sorry to disturb you, if others did not; but 
she will not come in. She is standing in the 
court.’* 

Hester looked over the muslin blind of the 
window, and immediately knew the farmer’s 
wife who had let her try to rhilk a cow, when 
she could scarcely make her way alone through 
the farm-yard. Edgar was a little disappointed 
when he saw how she outstripped him in run- 
ning down stairs, and seemed as eager to get 
her friend properly introduced into the parlour 
as if she had been Miss Berkeley herself. 

“You must come in, Mrs. Smith; there is 
nobody here that you will mind seeing, and you 
look as if you wanted to sit down and rest.” 

“ It is only the flutter of seeing you. Miss 
Hester. No; I cannot come in. I only brought 
these few roses for you, and wished to see you 
once more. Miss Hester.” 

“ Why do you begin calling me ‘ Miss?* I 
was never anything but Hester before.” 

“ Well, to be sure,” said Mrs. Smith, smil- 
ing, “it is rather strange to be beginning to 
call you ‘ Miss,’ when this is the last day that 
anybody can call you so.” 

“ I did not remember that when I found fault 


44 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


wHh you/’ said Hester, blushing ‘‘ But come 
in; your basket will be safe enough just within 
the door.” 

While Mrs. Smith was taking her wine, and 
Hester putting the moss-roses in water, the 
maltster came in, with his little packet of silver 
paper in his hand. 

‘‘Why, Mr. Williams! so you are in town! 
How kind of you to come and see us! I am 
sure Hester did not think to have bid you good 
bye, though she was speaking of you only the 
other day.” 

“ None but friends, I see,” said the laconic 
Mr. Williams, looking round: “ so I will make 
bold without ceremony.” 

And he threw over Hester’s neck the delicate 
white ribbon to which the locket was fastened, 
and whispered that he would send her some hair 
to put into it: she knew whose; and he had 
never, he could tell her, given a single hair of 
it away to anybody before. Hester looked up 
at him with tearful eyes, without speaking. 

“ Now you must give me something in re- 
turn,” said he. “ If you have the least bit of 

a drawing that you do not care for You 

know I have the second you ever did; your 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


45 


mother keeping the first, as is proper. I have 
the squirrel, you remember, with the nut in its 
paw. The tail, to be sure, is more like a feath- 
er than a tail ; but it was a wonderful drawing 
for a child.” 

Shall I do a drawing for you when I am 
settled?” said Hester, “or will you have one 
of the poor things out of my portfolio ? I have 
parted with all the good ones, I am afraid.” 

“You will have other things to think of when 
you get to London than doing drawings for me, 
my dear. No: any little scratch you like to 
part with, — only so that it has been done lately.” 

While Hester was gone for her portfolio, 
Philip took up the silver paper which was lying 
on the table, and began to compare it with the 
paper of one of the new notes, holding both up 
to the light. 

“ Some people would say,” observed Edgar 
to him, “ that you are trying to find out whether 
it would be easy to forge such a note as that.” 

“ People would say what is very foolish then,” 
replied Philip. “ If I put my neck in danger 
with making money, it should be with coining, 
not forging. We shall soon have notes as plen- 
tiful as blackberries, if new banks are set up 


46 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


every day. Golden guineas are the rare things 
now; and the cleverest cheats are those that 
melt every guinea they can lay their hands on, 
and send out a bad one instead of it.” 

“ But it is so much easier to forge than to 
coin,” remarked Edgar: ‘‘ except that, to be 
sure, people seem to have no use of their eyes 
where money is concerned. You never saw 
such ridiculous guineas as our people bring to 
the Mint sometimes, to show how easily the 
public can be taken in.” 

Every body is not so knowing as you and I 
are made by our occupations,” observed Philip. 
“ But a man who wishes to deal in false money 
may choose, I have heard, between coining and 
forging; for both are done by gangs, and sel- 
dom or never by one person alone. He may 
either be regularly taught the business, or make 
his share of the profits by doing what I think 
the dirtiest part of the work, — passing the bad 
money.” 

“ Don’t talk anymore about it, Philip,” said 
his mother. “It is all dirty work, and wicked 
work, and such as we people in the country do 
not like to hear of. Prices are higher than 
ever to-day, I understand, Mrs. Smith.” 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


47 


** If they are, ma’am,” replied the simple Mrs. 
Smith, ‘‘ there is more money than ever to pay 
them. I never saw so much money passing 
round as to-day owing to the new notes, ma’am.” 

“I am sure it is very well,” observed the 
widow, sighing. It makes mothers anxious to 
have their children marrying in times like these, 
when prices are so high. Edgar can tell you 
how long it was before I could bring myself to 
think it prudent for these young folks to settle. 
I would have had them wait till the war was 
over, and living was cheaper.” 

“We should make sure first, ma’am,” said 
Edgar, “ that the high prices are caused mainly 
by the war. The wisest people think that they 
are owing to the number of new banks, and the 
quantity of paper money that is abroad.” 

“ How should that be?” inquired the widow. 
“The dearer every thing is, you know, the 
more money is wanted. So let the bankers put 
out as many notes as they can make it conven- 
ient to give us, say I.” 

“But ma’am,” pursued Edgar, “ the more 
notes are put out, the faster the guineas go 
away. I assure you, Sir,” he continued, ad- 
dressing himself to Mr. Williams, “we go on 


48 


TPIE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


working at the Mint, sending out coin as fast 
as ever we can prepare it, and nobody seems 
the better for it. Nobody can tell where it goes, 
or what becomes of it.” 

“ Perhaps our friend Philip could tell some- 
thing, if be chose,” observed Mr. Williams; 

such dealings as he has in gold. And per- 
haps, if you servants of the Mint could see into 
people’s doings, you might find that you coin the 
same gold many times over.” 

‘‘ One of our officers said so the other day. 
He believes that our handsome new coin goes 
straight to the melting-pot, and is then carried 
in bars or bullion to the Bank of England, and 
then comes under our presses again, and so on. 
But much of it must go abroad too, we think.” 

‘‘And some, I have no doubt, is hoarded; 
as is usually the case during war,” observed 
Mr. Williams; whereupon the widow turned her 
head quickly to hear what was passing. “ But 
what waste it is to be spending money continu- 
ally in coining, when every week uncoins what 
was coined the week before!” 

“Waste indeed!” observed the widow. “ But 
if it has anything to do with high prices, I sup- 
pose you do not object to it, Mr. Williams, any 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


49 


more than Mrs. Smith; for the high prices must 
be a great gain to you both.” 

“You must remember, Mrs. Parndon, we 
have to buy as well as sell; and so far we feel the 
high prices like other people. Mrs. Smith gets 
more than she did for her butter and her fowls ; 
and even her roses sell a half-penny a bunch 
dearer than they did; but she has to buy coals 
for her house, and shirting for her husband; 
and for these she pays a raised price.” 

“Those are the worst off,” replied Mrs. 
Parndon, sighing, “who have every-thing to 
buy and nothing to sell. I assure you, sir, my 
pension does not go so far by one-fourth part 
as it did when I first had it. And this was the 
thing that made me so anxious about these 
young people. Edgar has a salary, you know ; 
and that is the same thing as a pension or an- 
nuity, when prices rise.” 

“True. Those are best off just now who 
sell their labour at an unfixed price, which rises 
with the price of other things. But for your 
comfort, ma’am, prices will be sure to fall some 
day; and then you will like your own pension 
and your son-in-law’s salary as well as ever.” 

“And then,” said Edgar, “you and Mrs 

VoL. L— D 


50 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


Smith will be reducing the wages of your ser- 
vants and labourers, and will buy your blanketsr 
and fuel cheaper, and yet find yourselves grow- 
ing poorer because your profits are lessened. 
Then,” he continued, as Hester came into the 
room, you will leave off giving lockets to your 
young friends when they marry.” 

I shall never have such another young friend 
to give one to, — never one that I shall care for 
so much,” replied Mr. Williams, who found him- 
self obliged to rub his spectacles frequently be- 
fore he could see to choose between the three 
or four drawings that Hester spread before 
him. 

When the pathos of the scene became deep- 
er; when Mr. Williams could no longer pre- 
tend to be still selecting a drawing; when 
Hester gave over all attempts to conceal her 
tears, when her lover lavished his endeavours 
to sooth and support her, and Mrs. Smith look- 
ed about anxiously for some way of escape, 
without undergoing the agony of a farewell, 
Philip, who seemed to have neither eyes, ears, 
nor understanding for sentiment, turned round 
abruptly upon the tender-hearted market-wo- 
man, with — 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


51 


“ Do you happen to have one of the new 
notes about you, Mrs. Smith? I want to see 
if this mark, — here in the corner, you see, — is 
an accident, or whether it may be a private 
mark.” 

‘‘ Mercy! Mr. Philip. I beg pardon, sir, for 
being startled. Yes, I have one somewhere.” 
And with trembling hands she felt for her pock- 
et-book. “ Let’s just go out quietly, Mr. 
Philip. She won’t see me go, and I would not 
nain her any more, just for the saJce of another 
look and word. I shall find the note presently 
when we are in the court. Sir.” 

Philip looked on stupidly when he saw his 
sisters tears, and undecidedly, when Mrs. Smith 
was stealing out of the room. At last, he be- 
thought himself of saying, 

“ I say, Hester — would you like to bid Mrs. 
Smith good bye or not? You need not unless 
you like, she says.” 

Hester turned from the one old firiend to the 
other; and now the matter-of-fact Philip was 
glad to shorten the scene, and let Mrs. Smith 
go away without putting her in mind of the 
note. As he had a great wish to see as many 
notes and as few scenes as possible, he left 


52 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


home, and sauntered into the market, where he 
found people wh3 had not yet set their faces 
Somewards, and who were willing to chat with 
him, while packing up their unsold goods. 

Mrs. Parndon’s chief concern this day, ex- 
cept her daughter, had been Mr. Pye. She 
wondered from hour to hour, first, whether he 
would come, and afterwards, why he did not 
come. She concluded that he would use the 
privilege of an old friend, and drop in late in 
the evening, to give his blessing. She had 
been several times on the point of proposing 
that he should be invited to attend the wedding ; 
but scruples which she did not acknowledge to 
herself, kept her from speaking. She liked the 
appearance of intimacy which must arise out 
of his being the only guest on such an occasion ; 
but behind this there was a feeling that the 
sight of a daughter of hers at the altar might 
convey an idea that she was herself too old to 
stand there with any propriety : an idea which 
she was very desirous should not enter Enoch’s 
mind, as she was far from entertaining it her- 
self. As it was pretty certain, however, that 
Mr. Pye would be present, she settled that it 
would be well for her to be at his elbow to mod- 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM. 


53 


ify his associations, as far as might be practica- 
ble ; and she suggested, when the evening drew 
on, that, as poor Mr. Pye (who was certainly 
growing deaf, hov/ever unwilling he might be 
to own it) could hear the service but poorly 
from a distance, and as his interest in Hester 
was really like that of a father, he should be 
invited to breakfast with the family, and accom- 
pany them to church. Everybody being will- 
ing, the request was carried by Philip, and 
graciously accepted. 

By noon the next day, when the post-chaise 
had driven off with the new-married pair from 
the widow Parndon’s door, there was no such 
important personage in Haleb am as Mr. Pye. 
He was the only one from whom the lonely 
mother would receive consolation ; and when he 
was obliged to commend her to her son’s care, 
and go home to attend his counter, he was ac- 
costed on the way by everybody he met. It was 
plain, at a glance, by his glossy brown coat, 
best white stockings, and Sunday wig, pushed 
aside from his best ear in his readiness to be 
questioned, that he had been a wedding guest; 
and many times, within a few hours, did he tell 
the story of what a devoted lover Edgar ^^'as, 


54 


THE PRIDE OF HALEHAM, 


and what a happy prospect lay before Hester, 
both as to worldly matters and the province of 
the heart; and how she was nearly sinking at 
the altar; and how he could not help her be- 
cause her mother needed the support of his arm; 
and what a beautiful tray of flowers, with pres- 
ents hidden beneath them, had been sent in by 
the Miss Berkeleys, just when the party were 
growing nervous as church-time approached; 
and how Mr. Cavendish had taken his hat 
quite off, bowing to the bride on her way home ; 
and how finely Mr. Craig had gone through the 

service; and how but Enoch’s voice failed 

him as often as he came to the description of 
the chaise driving up, and Philip’s superintend- 
ence of the fastening on the luggage. He 
could get no further ; and his listeners departed, 
one after another, with sympathizing sighs. 
When was there ever a wedding-day without 
sighs? 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


55 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HALEHAM RIOT. 

Haleham had never been apparently so pros- 
perous as at this time, notwithstanding the war, 
to which were referred all the grievances of com- 
plainers, — and they were few. Prices were cer- 
tainly very high ; much higher since Mr. Berke- 
ley had joined the D Bank, and Mr. Ca- 

vendish opened the Haleham concern; but mon- 
ey abounded, taxation was less felt than when 
purses were emptier; and the hope of obtain- 
ing high prices stimulated industry, and caused 
capital to be laid out to the best advantage. At 
first, the same quantity of coin that there had 
been before circulated together with Cavendish’s 
notes; and as there was nearly twice the quan- 
tity of money in the hands of a certain number 
of people to exchange for the same quantity of 
commodities, money was of course very cheap; 
that is, commodities were very dear. As gold 
money was prevented by law from becoming 
cheap, like paper money, people very naturally 
hoarded it, or changed it away to foreign coun- 


5(3 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


tries, where commodities were not dear as in 
England. Even in the little town of Haleham, 
it was soon discovered that several kinds of for- 
eign goods could be had in greater variety and 
abundance than formerly ; Haleham having its 
share of the larger quantity of foreign commodi- 
ties now flowing into England in return for the 
guineas which left it as fast as they could be 
smuggled out of the country in their own shape, 
or as bullion. If the quantity of money had now 
been let alone, prices would have returned to 
their former state as soon as the additional quan 
tity of money had been thus drained away: but, 
as fast as it disappeared, more bankers’ notes 
were issued; so that the whole amount of money 
went on increasing, though the metal part of it 
lessened day by day. The great bank of all, 
— the Bank of England, — had obtained leave, 
some years before, to put out notes without 
being liable to be called upon to exchange them 
for gold upon the demand of the holder of the 
note. The Bank was now making use of this 
permission at a great rate; and for two years 
past had put out so large a number of notes, that 
some people began to doubt whether it could 
keep its promise to pay” in gold, whenever 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


57 


the time should come for parliament to withdraw 
its permission; which, it was declared, would 
be soon after the war should be ended. No 
other banks had the same liberty. They were 
not allowed to make their purchases with prom- 
ises to pay, and then authorized to refuse to pay 
till parliament should oblige them to do so at the 
conclusion of the war. But the more paper 
money the Bank of England issued, the more 
were the proprietors of other banks tempted to 
put out as many notes as they dared, and thus 
to extend their business as much as possible; 
and many were rather careless as to whether 
they should be able to keep their promise to 
pay;’’ and some cheats and swindlers set up 
banks, knowing that they should never be able 
to pay, and that their business must break in a 
very short time ; that hoping to make something 
by the concern meanwhile, and to run off at last 
with some of the deposits placed in their hands 
by credulous people. So many kinds of bankers 
being eager at the same time to issue their notes, 
money of course abounded more and more; and, 
as commodities did not abound in the same pro- 
portion, they became continually dearer. 

There would have been little harm in this, if 


58 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


1 


all buyers had felt the change alike. But as they 
did not, there was discontent, — and very reason- 
able discontent, — in various quarters; while in 
others, certain persons were unexpectedly and 
undeservedly enriched at the expense of the dis- 
contented. If it had been universally agreed 
throughout the whole kingdom that everybody 
should receive twice as much money as he did 
before, and that, at the same time, whatever had 
cost a guinea should now cost two pound notes 
and two shillings, and that whatever had cost 
sixpence should now cost a shilling, and so on, 
nobody would have had to complain of anything 
but the inconvenience of changing the prices of 
all things. But such an agreement was not, and 
could not be, made; and that the quantity of mo- 
ney should be doubled and not equally shared, 
while prices were doubled to everybody, was sure 
to be called, what it really was, very unfair. The 
government complained that the taxes were paid 
in the same number of pounds, shillings, and 
pence as before, while government had to pay 
the new prices for whatever it bought. There 
was, in fact, a reduction of taxation: but, before 
the people had the satisfaction of perceiving and 
acknowledging this, the government was obliged 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


59 


to lay on new taxes to make up for the reduction 
of the old ones, and to enable it to carry on the 
war. This set the people complaining again; so 
that the government and nation were actually 
complaining at the same time, the one of a re- 
duction, the other of an increase of taxation; and 
both had reason for their murmurs. 

JS^one had so much reason for discontent as 
those classes which suffered in both ways, — 
those who received fixed incomes. To pay the 
new prices with the old amount of yearly money, 
and to be at the same time heavily taxed, was 
indeed a great hardship; and the inferior clergy, 
fund-holders, salaried clerks, annuitants and oth- 
ers were as melancholy as farmers were cheer- 
ful in regarding their prospects. Servants and 
labourers contrived by degrees to have their 
wages, and professional men their fees, raised; 
but these were evil days for those whose incomes 
were not the reward of immediate labour, and 
could not therefore rise and fall with the com- 
parative expense of subsistence. In proportion 
as these classes suffered, the productive classes 
enjoyed; and the farmers under long leases had 
as much more than their due share as the land- 
lord, the public servant, and creditor, had less 


f)0 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


This inequality led to some curious modes o: 
management, whereby some endeavoured to re 
cover their rights, and others to make the mos 
of their present advantages; and in Haleham 
as in more important places where the state oi 
the currency had been affected by the establish- 
ment of a bank, or by some other inlet of a fiooc 
of paper money, instances were witnessed of ? 
struggle between those who were benefited anc 
those who were injured by the new state of mon- 
ey affairs. 

“You complain of my never having time tc 
ride with you, Melea,” said Mr, Berkeley to hh 
younger daughter, one fine October morning 

‘ ‘ I am not going to D to-day, and w( 

will ride to Merton Downs, if you can prevai 
upon yourself to lay aside your German Diction 
ary for three hours.” 

Melea joyfully closed her book. 

“ Nay, I give you another hour. I must go 
down to the workhouse, and see the paupers 
paid off; but that will not take long.” 

“ Then, suppose you meet us at Martin’s 
farm,” said Fanny. “ It is on your way, and 
will save you the trouble of coming home again. 
Melea and I have not been at the Martin’s this 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


61 


long while; and we want to know how Rhoda 
likes her place.” 

Not for a long while indeed,” observed their 
mother, as the girls left the room to prepare for 
their ride. ‘‘It is so far a bad thing for the 
Martins that Mr. Craig lodges there, that we 
cannot go and see them so often as we should 
like. It is only when he is absent for days to- 
gether, as he is now, that the girls can look in 
at the farm as they used to do.” 

‘ ‘ The Martins do not want anything that we 
can do for them, my dear. They are very flour- 
ishing; and, I am afraid, will soon grow too 
proud to have a daughter out at service. Did 
not I hear somebody say that Rhoda is growing 
discontented already.^ ” 

“Yes; but there may be reason for it.” 

“All pride, depend upon it, my dear. Her 
father holds a long lease, and he may gather a 
pretty dower for his daughter out of his profits, 
before prices fall. I wish Craig would take a 
fancy to the daughter and dower together, if it 
would prevent his running after my girls in the 
way he does. I shall forbid him the house soon, 
if I find he puts any fancies into their heads, as 


62 


THE HALEHAM RIOT 


I am afraid he does, to judge by this prodigious 
passion for German.” 

“ Mr. Craig and Rhoda Martin ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Berkeley, laughing. “ That is a new idea 
to me. However, Rhoda is engaged to Chap- 
man, you know.” 

‘‘ True ; I forgot. Well ; we must mate Craig 
elsewhere ; for it would be intolerable for him to 
think of one of my daughters. Miss Egg might 
do. Mrs. Cavendish speaks very highly of her. 
Cannot you put it into his head? You remem- 
ber how well the Cavendishes speak of her.” 

“No danger of my forgetting; — nor of Mr. 
Craig’s forgetting it, either. You should see him 
take off the two ladies in an ecstacy of friend- 
ship. Nay, it is fair; very fair, if anybody is 
to be laughed at ; and you will hardly pretend to 
any extra morality on that point.” 

“Well; only let Craig keep out of Fanny’s 
way, that’s all: but I am afraid Mr. Longe is 
too open, — too precipitate — ” 

“ Fanny!” exclaimed Mrs. Berkeley, “ I do 
not think Henry has any thoughts of her.” 

“ Henry!” repeated Mr. Berkeley, impatient- 
ly. “ The young man grows familiar at a great 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


63 


rate, I think. So you think it is Melea. Well; 
that is not quite so bad, as it leaves more time, 
more chance of preferment before him. But I 
wish he had it to-morrow, so that it might pre- 
vent our seeing any more of him.” 

“ I am very sorry ” Mrs. Berkeley began, 

when her daughters appeared, and it was neces- 
sary to change the subject. After leaving orders 
that the horses should be brought down to Mar- 
tin’s farm in an hour, the young ladies accom- 
panied their father as far as Sloe Lane, down 
'which they turned to go to the farm, while he 
pursued his way to the workhouse. 

A shrill voice within doors was silenced by 
Fanny’s second tap at the door. The first had 
not been heard. After a hasty peep through the 
window, Rhoda appeared on the threshold to 
invite the young ladies in. Her colour was 
raised, and her eyes sparkled; which it gave 
Fanny great concern to see; for no one was 
present, but Mr. and Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Ca- 
vendish’s baby, which the latter was dandling; 
and Rhoda had never been the kind of girl who 
could be suspected of quarrelling with her pa- 
rents. Mrs. Martin seemed to guess what was 
in Fanny’s mind, for she restored the baby to 


64 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


the young nursemaids’ arms, bade her go and 
call the other children in from the garden, as it 
was time they should be going home, and then 
pointing to some curious matters which lay upon 
the table. These were fragments of very dark 
brown bread, whose hue was extensively varie- 
gated with green mould. Melea turned away 
in disgust, after a single glance. 

‘ ‘ Miss Melea has no particular appetite for 
such bread,” observed Mrs. Martin. ‘‘ Ladies, 
this is the food Mrs. Cavendish provides for her 
servants, — aye, and for the children too as long 
as they will eat it. The grand Mrs. Cavendish, 
ladies; the great banker’s lady.” 

“ There must be some mistake,” said Fanny, 
quietly. “ It may happen ” 

“There lies the bread, Mis3 Berkeley; and 
my husband and I saw Bhoda take it out of her 
pocket. Where else she could get such bread, 
perhaps you can tell us, ma’am.” 

“ I do not mean to tax Rhoda with falsehood. 
I mean that it is very possible that, by bad man- 
agement, a loaf or two may have been kept 
- too long ” 

“ But just look at the original quality, 
ma’am.” And the farmer and his wife spoke 
alternately. 


THE HALEHAM RIOT 


65 


“You should see the red herrings they dine 
off five days in the week.’’ 

“ And the bone pies the other two.” 

“ Sacks of bad potatoes are bought for the 
servants.” 

“ The nursemaid and baby sleep under ground, 
with a brick floor.” 

‘ ‘ The maids are to have no fire after the din- 
ner is cooked in winter, any more than in sum- 
mer.” 

“ The errand-boy that was found lying sick 
in the street, and flogged for being drunk, 
ma’am, had not so much as half a pint of 
warm beer, that his mother herself gave him 
to cheer him; but his stomach was weak, poor 
fellow, from having had only a hard dumpling 
all day, and the beer got into his head. Rhoda 
can testify to it all.” 

Fanny was repeatedly going to urge that it 
was very common to hear such things, and find 
them exaggerated ; that Rhoda was high-spirit- 
ed, and had been used to the good living of a 
farmhouse; and, as an only daughter, might be 
a little fanciful : but proof followed upon proof, 
story upon story, till she found it better to en- 
deavour to change the subject. 

VoL. I.— E 


66 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


“If it was such a common instance of a bad 
place as one hears of every day/’ observed 
Martin, “ I, for one, should say less about it. 
But here is a man who comes and gets every 
body’s money into his hands, and puts out his 
own notes instead, in such a quantity as to 
raise the price of everything; and then he 
makes a pretence of these high prices, caused 
by himself, to starve his dependents; the very 
children of those whose money he holds.” 

“ He cannot hold it for a day after they 
choose to call for it.” 

“ Certainly, ma’am. But a bank is an ad- 
vantage people do not like to give up. Just 
look, now, at the round of Cavendish’s dealings 
He buys corn — of me, we will say — paying me 
in his own notes. After keeping it in his gran- 
aries till more of his notes are out, and prices 
have risen yet higher, he changes it away for 
an estate, which he settles on his wife. Mean- 
time, while the good wheat is actually before 
Rhoda’s eyes, he says, ^ bread is getting so 
dear, we can only afford what we give you. 
We do not buy white bread for servants.’ And 
Rhoda must take out of his hands some of the 
wages she lodged there to buy white bread, if 
she must have it.” 


THE HALEHAM RIOT 


67 


Fanny had some few things to object to this 
statement; for instance, that Cavendish could 
not float paper money altogether at random; 
and that there must be security existing before 
he could obtain the estate to bestow upon his 
wife: but the Martins were too full of their 
own ideas to allow her time to speak. 

They are all alike, — the whole clan of 
them,” cried Mrs. Martin: “ the clergyman no 
better than the banker. One might know Mr 
Longe for a cousin; and I will say it, though 
he is our rector.” 

Fanny could not conceal from herself that 
she had no objection to hear Mr. Longe found 
fault with; and she only wished for her father’s 
presence at such times. 

‘‘ It has always been the custom, as long as I 
can remember, and my father before me,” ob- 
served Martin, ‘‘ for the rector to take his tithes 
in money. The agreement with the clergyman 
has been made from year to year as regularly 
as the rent was paid to the landlord. But now, 
here is Mr. Longe insisting on having his 
tithe in kind.” 

In kind! and what will he do with it?” 

“ It will take him half the year to dispose of 


68 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


his fruits,” observed Melea, laughing. “ Fan- 
cy him, in the spring, with half a calf, and 
three dozen cabbages, and four goslings, and 
a sucking pig. And then will come a cock of 
hay; and afterwards so much barley, and so 
much wheat and oats; and then a sack of ap- 
ples, and three score of turnips, and pork, dou- 
ble as much as his household can eat. I hope 
lie will increase his house-keeper’s v/ages out 
of his own profits; for it seems to me that the 
trouble must fall on her. Yes, yes; the house- 
keeper and the errand-man should share the 
new profits between them.” 

‘‘It is for no such purpose, Miss Melea, that 
he takes up this new fancy. He has no thought 
of letting any body but himself profit by the 
change of prices. As for the trouble you 
speak of, he likes the fiddle-faddle of going 
about selling his commodities. His cousin, 
Mrs. Cavendish, will take his pigs, and some 
of his veal and pork, and cabbages and apples: 
and he will make his servants live off potatoes 
and gruel, if there should be more oats and po- 
tatoes than he knows what to do with.” 

“ Let him have as much as he may, he will 
never send so much as an apple to our lodger,” 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


69 


observed Mrs. Martin. “ He never considers 
Mr. Craig in any way. If you were to propose 
raising Mr. Craig’s salary, or, what comes to 
the same thing, paying it in something else than 
money, he would defy you to prove that he was 
bound to pay it in any other way than as it was 
paid four years ago.” 

“ And it could not be proved, I suppose,” 
said Melea. “ Neither can you prove that he 
may not take his tithe in kind.” 

‘‘ I wish we could,” observed Martin, ‘‘ and 
I would thwart him, you may depend upon it. 
Nothing shall he have from me but what the 
letter of the law obliges me to give him. But 
what an unfair state of things it is, ladies, when 
your rector may have double the tithe property 
one year that he had the year before, while he 
pays his curate, in fact, just half what he agreed 
to pay at the beginning of the contract!” 

While Melea looked even more indignant 
than Martin himself, her sister observed that 
the farmer was not the person to complain of 
the increased value of tithes, since he profited 
by precisely the same augmentation of the val- 
ue of produce. The case of the curate she 
thought a verv hard one; and that equity re- 


70 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


quired an increase of his nominal salary, in pro- 
portion as its value became depreciated. She 
wished to know, however, whether it had ever 
entered the farmer’s head to offer his landlord 
more rent in consequence of the rise of prices. 
If it was unfair that the curate should suffer by 
the depreciation in the value of money, it was 
equally unfair in the landlord’s case. 

Martin looked somewhat at a loss for an an- 
swer, till his wife supplied him with one. Be- 
sides that it would be time enough, she observ- 
ed, to pay more rent when it was asked for, at 
the expiration of the lease, it ought to be con- 
sidered that money was in better hands when 
the farmer had it to lay out in improving the 
land and raising more produce, than when the 
landlord had it to spend fruitlessly. Martin 
caught at the idea, and went on with eagerness 
to show how great a benefit it was to society that 
more beeves should be bred, and more wheat 
grown in consequence of fewer liveried ser- 
vants being kept, and fewer journeys to the 
lakes being made by the landlord. 

Fanny shook her head, and said that this had 
nothing to do with the original contract between 
landlord and tenant. Leases were not drawn 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


71 


out with any view to the mode in which the re- 
spective parties should spend their money. The 
>oint now in question was, whether an agreement 
should be kept to the letter when new circumstan- 
ces had caused a violation of its spirit ; or whether 
the party profiting by these new circumstances 
should not in equity surrender a part of the ad- 
vantage which the law would permit him to hold. 
The farmer was not at all pleased to find himself 
placed on the same side of the question with Mr. 
Longe, and his favourite Mr. Craig, whose rights 
he had been so fond of pleading, holding the 
same ground with Martin’s own landlord. 

The argument ended in an agreement that 
any change like that which had taken place 
within two years, — any action on the currency, 
— was a very injurious thing; — not only be- 
cause it robs some while enriching others, but 
because it impairs the security of property, — 
the first bond of the social state. 

Just then, Rhoda and the children burst in 
from the garden, saying that there must be 
something the matter in the town; for they had 
heard two or three shouts, and a scream; and, 
on looking over the hedge, had seen several 
men hurrying past, who had evidently left their 


72 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


work in the fields on some alarm. Martin 
snatched his hat and ran out, leaving the young 
ladies in a state of considerable anxiety. As 
the farmer had not said when he should come 
back, and his wife was sure he would stay to 
see the last of any disaster before he would 
think of returning home, the girls resolved to 
walk a little way down the road, and gather 
such tidings as they could. They had not pro- 
ceeded more than a furlong from the farm gate 
before they met their father’s groom, with their 
own two horses and a message from his master. 
Mr. Berkeley begged his daughters to proceed 
on their ride without him, as he was detained 
by a riot at the workhouse. He begged the 
young ladies not to be at all uneasy, as the dis- 
turbance was already put down, and it was on- 
ly his duty as a magistrate which detained him. 
The groom could tell nothing of the matter, 
further than that the outdoor paupers had be- 
gun the mischief, which presently spread within 
the workhouse. Some windows had been bro- 
ken, he believed, but he had not heard of any 
one being hurt. 

“You have no particular wish to ride, Me- 
lea, have you?” inquired her sister. 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


73 


“ Not at all. I had much rather see these 
children home. They look so frightened, I 
hardly know how Rhoda can manage to take 
care of them all.” 

‘‘ The horses can be left at the farm for half 
an hour while George goes with us all to Mr. 
Cavendish’s,” observed Fanny: and so it was 
arranged. 

As the party chose a circuitous way, in order 
to avoid the bustle of the town, the young la- 
dies had an opportunity of improving their ac- 
quaintance with five little Miss Cavendishes, 
including the baby in arms. At first, the girls 
would walk only two and two, hand in hand, bolt 
upright, and answering only ‘‘Yes, ma’am, “No, 
ma’am, ” to whatever was said to them. By dint of 
perseverance, however, Melea separated them 
when fairly in the fields, and made them jump 
from the stiles, and come to her to have flowers 
stuck in their bonnets. This latter device first 
loosened their tongues. 

“ Mamma says it stains our bonnets to have 
flowers put into them,” observed Marianna, 
hesitating. “ She says we shall have artificial 
flowers when we grow bigger.” 

Melea was going to take out the garland, 


71 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


when Emma insisted that mamma did not mean 
these bonnets, but their best bonnets. 

O, Miss Berkeley!” they all cried at once, 
“ have you seen our best bonnets?” 

With lilac linings,” added one. 

With muslin rosettes,” said another. 

•‘And Emma’s is trimmed round the edge, 
because she is the oldest,” observed little Julia, 
repiningly. 

“ And mamma will not let Julia have ribbon 
strings till she leaves off sucking them at 
church,” informed Marianna. 

“ That is not worse than scraping up the 
sand to powder the old men’s wigs in the aisle,” 
retorted Julia; “ and Marianna was punished 
for that, last Sunday.” 

“ We do not wish to hear about that,” said 
Fanny. “ See how we frightened that pheas- 
ant on the other side the hedge, just with pul- 
iing a hazel bough!” 

soon as the pheasant had been watched 
cut of sight, Emma came and nestled herself 
close to Melea to whisper, 

“ Is not it ill-natured of Rhoda? I saw her 
mother give her a nice large harvest cake, and 
she will not let us have a bit of it.” 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


75 


Are you hungry?” 

‘‘ Why, — yes; I think I am beginning to be 
\ery hungry.” 

“You cannot be hungry,” said Emma. — 
“ You had a fine slice of bread and honey just 
before Miss Berkeley came in. But Rhoda 
might as well give us some of her cake. I 
know she will eat it all up herself.” 

“ I do not think she will; and, if I were 
you, I would not ask her for any, but leave her 
to give it to whom she likes; particula^iiy as 
her mother was so kind as to give you some 
bread and honey.” 

“ But we wanted that. Mamma said we 
need not have any luncheon before we came out, 
because Mrs. Martin always gives us something 
to eat. I was so hungry!” 

“ If you were hhngry, what must Marianna 
have been? Do you know. Miss Berkeley, 
Marianna would not take her breakfast. She 
told a fib yesterday, and mamma says she shall 
not have any sugar in her tea for three months; 
and she would not touch a bit this morning. 
Miss Egg says she will soon grow tired of 
punishing herself this way; and that it is quite 
time to break her spirit.” 


76 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


Marianna overheard this last speech, and 
added triumphantly. 

“ Tom is not to have any sugar, any more 
than I, Miss Berkeley: and he was shut up 
half yesterday too. He brought in his kite all 
wet and draggled from the pond; and what did 
he do but take it to the drawing-room fire to dry, 
before the company came. It dripped upon 
our beautiful new fire-irons, and they are all 
rusted wherever the tail touched them.” 

“ The best of it was,” interrupted Emma, 
“ the kite caught fire at last, and Tom threw it 
down into the hearth because it burned his hand; 
and the smoke made such a figure of the new 
chimney-piece as you never saw, for it was a 
very large kite.” 

So poor Tom lost his kite by his careless- 
ness. Was his hand much burned?” 

‘‘Yes, a good deal: but Rhoda scraped some 
potatoe to put upon it.” 

“You will help him to make a new kite, I 
suppose?” 

“ I don’t know how,” replied one, carelessly. 

“I shan’t,” cried another. “ He threw my 
old doll into the pond.” 

“ Miss Egg said that was the best place for 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


77 


it,” observed Emma; ‘‘ but she said so because 
Tom was a favourite that day.” And the little 
girl told in a whisper why Tom was a favourite. 
He had promised to come up to the school-room 
and tell Miss Egg whenever Mr. Longe was in 
the parlour, though his mamma had expressly 
desired him not. But this was a great secret. 

“ How shall we stop these poor little crea- 
tures’ tongues?” asked Melea. “ There is no 
interesting them in any thing but what happens 
at home.” 

I am very sorry we have heard so much of 
that, indeed,” replied Fanny. ‘‘I do not see 
what you can do but run races with them, which 
your habit renders rather inconvenient.” 

The few poor persons they met on the out- 
skirts of the town aiforded occasion for the dis- 
play of as much insolence on the part of the little 
Cavendishes as they had before exhibited of un- 
kindness to each other. The Miss Berkeleys 
had no intention of paying a visit to Mrs. Ca- 
vendish, but were discerned from a window while 
taking leave of their charge, and receiving 
Rhoda’s thanks outside the gate ; and once hav- 
ing brought Mrs. Cavendish out, there was no 
retreat. — They must come in and rest. Mr. 


78 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


Cavendish was gone to learn what was the mat- 
ter, and they really must stay and hear it. She 
could not trust them back again unless one of 
the gentlemen went with them. Terrible dis- 
orders indeed, she had heard: the magistrates 
threatened, — and Mr. Berkeley a magistrate ! 
Had they heard that the magistrate had been 
threatened ? 

Melea believed that this was the case once a 
week at the least. But what else had happened ? 

O ! they must come in and hear. There was 
a friend v/ithin who could tell all about it. And 
Mrs. Cavendish tripped before them into the 
drawing room, where sat Miss Egg and Mr. 
Longe. 

The one looked mortified, the other de- 
lighted. As Mr. Longe ’s great vexation was 
that he could never contrive to make himself of 
consequence with Fanny, it was a fine thing to 
have the matter of the conversation completely 
in his own power to-day. Fanny could not help 
being anxious about her father, and from Mr. 
Longe alone could she hear anything about him : 
and the gentleman made the most of such an 
opportunity of fixing her attention. He would 
have gained far more favour by going straight 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


79 


to the point, and telling exactly what she want< 
ed to know; but he amplified, described, com- 
mented, and even moralized before he arrived 
at the proof that Mr. Berkeley was not, and had 
not been, in any kind of danger. — When this was 
once out, Mr. Longe’s time of privilege was 
over, and it was evident that he was not listened 
to on his own account. Then did Miss Egg 
quit her task of entertaining Melea, and listen 
to Mr. Longe more earnestly than ever. 

‘‘ I am so glad to see you two draw together 
so pleasantly,” said Mrs. Cavendish to Melea, 
nodding to indicate Miss Egg as the other party 
of whom she was speaking. ‘‘ I feel it such a 
privilege to have a friend like her to confide my 
children to, and one that I can welcome into my 
drawing-room on the footing of a friend !” 

‘‘ I have heard that Miss Egg is devoted to 
her occupation,” observed Melea. 

‘‘ O, entirely. There is the greatest difficul- 
ty in persuading her to relax, I assure you. And 
all without the smallest occasion for her going 
out, except her disinterested attachment to me. 
You should see her way with the children,— how 
she makes them love her. ^he h^s such sensi- 
bility !” ' 


80 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


“What is the peculiarity of her method? ” 
inquired Melea. “ She gives me to understand 
that there i^ some one peculiarity.” 

“ O y^’i. It is a peculiar method that has 
been v jnderfully successful abroad; and indeed 
I see that it is, by my own children, though 1 
seldom go into the school-room. Great self- 
denial, is it not? But I would not interfere foi 
the world. — O,” — seeing Melea waiting for an 
exposition of the system, — “ she uses a black 
board and white chalk. We had the board 
made as soon as we came and fixed up in the 
school-room, — and white chalk. — But I would 
not interfere for the world; and I assure you I 
am quite afraid of practising on her feelings in 
any way. She has such sensibility !” 

Well, but, — the peculiarity of method. And 
Melea explained that she was particularly 
anxious to hear all that was going on in the 
department of education, as a boy was expected 
to arrive soon at her father’s — a little lad of ten 
years old from India, who would be placed part- 
ly under her charge, and might remain some 
years in their house. 

Indeed ! Well, Miss Egg questioned the 
children very much. So much, that Mr. Ca- 


THE IIALEHAM RIOT. 


81 


vendish and herself took particular care not to 
question them at all, both because they had 
quite enough of it from Miss Egg, and because 
the papa and mamma were afraid of interfering 
with the methods of the governess. And then, 
for what was not taught by questions, there was 
the black board and white chalk. — But, after all, 
the great thing was that the teacher should have 
sensibility, without which she could not gain the 
hearts of children, or understand their little 
feelings. 

All was now very satisfactory. Melea had 
obtained the complete recipe of education: — 
questions, sensibility, and chalk. 

Mr. Longe was by this time hoping that the 
Miss Berkeleys would offer to go away, that he 
might escort them home before any one else 
should arrive to usurp the office. Mortifying 
as it was to him to feel himself eclipsed by his 
curate, he was compelled to acknowledge in his 
own mind that he was so as often as Henry 
Craig was present, and that it was therefore pol- 
itic to make such advances as he could during 
Henry’s absence. Mr. Longe’s non-residence 
was a great disadvantage to him. Living fifteen 
miles off, and doing duty in another church, he 

VoL. I.— F 


82 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


was out of the way on many little occasions of 
ingratiating himself, and could never be invested 
with that interest which Henry Craig inspired 
in a peculiar degree as a religious teacher and 
devotional guide. The only thing to be done 
was to visit Haleham and the Berkeleys as often 
as possible during Henry’s absence, to obtain the 
favour of Fanny’s father, and to show the lady 
herself that an accomplished clergyman, who 
could quote the sayings of various friends who 
moved in the best society,” who knew the 
world a thousand times better than Henry Craig, 
and could appreciate herself as well as her little 
fortune, was not to be despised. He was at this 
moment longing to intimate to her what en- 
couragement he had this very day received from 
her father, when, to his great disappointment, 
Mr. Berkeley and Mr. Cavendish came in to- 
gether, — just in time to save Fanny’s call from 
appearing inordinately long. 

“ All over All safe ? How relieved we are 
to see you !” exclaimed the clergyman. 

Safe, my dear Sir.^ Yes. What v/ould you 
have us be afraid of?” said Mr. Berkeley, 
who, however, carried traces of recent agitation 
in his countenance and manner. 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


83 


“ Father !” said Melea, ‘‘you do not mean 
to say that nothing more has happened than you 
meet with from the paupers every week.” 

“ Only being nearly tossed in a blanket, my 
dear, that’s all. And Pye was all but kicked 
down stairs. But we have them safe now, — ^ 
the young ladies and all. Ah ! Melea; you have 
a good deal to learn yet about the spirit of 
your sex, my dear. The women beat the men 
hollow this morning.” 

Mr. Cavendish observed that the glaziers 
would be busy for some days, the women within 
the workhouse having smashed every pane of 
every window within reach, while the out-door 
paupers were engaging the attention of magis- 
trates, constables, and governor. 

“But what was it ail about?” asked Fanny. 

“ The paupers have been complaining of two 
or three things for some weeks past, and they 
demanded the redress of all in a lump to-day ; 
as if we magistrates could alter the Avhole state 
of things in a day to please them. In the first 
place, they one and all asked more pay, because 
the same allowance buys only two-thirds what it 
bought when the scale was fixed. This they 
charged upon Cavendish and me. It is well you 


84 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


were not there, Cavendish; you would hardly 

« 

have got away again.’’ 

‘‘ Why, what would they have done with me?” 
asked Cavendish, with a constrained simper, and 
a pull up of the head which was meant to be 
heroic. 

“ In addition to the tossing they intended for 
me, they would have given you a ducking, de- 
pend upon it. Heartily as they hate all bank- 
ers, they hate the Haleham banker above all. 
Indeed I heard some of them wish they had you 
laid neatly under the workhouse pump.” 

‘‘Ha! ha! very good, very pleasant, and 
refreshing on a warm day like this,” said Ca- 
vendish, wiping his forehead, while nobody else 
was aware that the day was particularly warm. 
“ Well, Sir; and what did you do to appease 
these insolent fellows?” 

“Appease them! O, I soon managed that. 
A cool man can soon get the better of half a 
dozen passionate ones, you know.” 

The girls looked with wonder at one another ; 
for they knew that coolness in emergencies was 
one of the last qualities their father had to boast 
of Fanny was vexed to see that Mr. Longe 
observed and interpreted the look. » She divined 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


85 


by his half-smile, that he did not think her fa- 
ther had been very cool. 

“ I desired them to go about their business,” 
continued Mr. Berkeley, “ and when that would 
not do, I called the constables.” 

“ Called indeed,” whispered Mr. Longe to 
his cousin. ‘‘ It would have been strange if 
they had not heard him.” 

But what were the other complaints. Sir?” 
inquired Fanny, wishing her father to leave the 
rest of his peculiar adventure to be told at 
home. 

‘‘ Every man of them refused to take dollars. 
They say that no more than five shillings’ worth 
of commodities, even at the present prices, is to 
be had for a dollar, notwithstanding the govern- 
ment order that it shall pass at five and sixpence. 
Unless, therefore, we would reckon the dollar at 
five shillings, they would not take it.” 

Silly fellows !” exclaimed Cavendish. If 
they would step to London, they would see no- 
tices in the shop-windows that dollars are taken 
at five and ninepence, and even at six shil- 
lings.” 

“ There must be some cheating there, how- 
ever,” replied Mr. Berkeley; for you and I 


86 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


know that dollars are not now really worth four 
and sixpence. Those London shopkeepers 
must want to sell them for the melting-pot; or 
they have two prices.” 

“ Then how can you expect these paupers to 
be satisfied with dollars?” inquired Melea. 

‘‘ What can we do, Miss Melea?” said Ca- 
vendish. “ There is scarcely any change to 
be had. You cannot conceive the difficulty of 
carrying on business just now, for want of 
change.” 

“ The dollars have begun to disappear since 
the goverment order came out, like all the rest 
of the coin,” observed Mr. Berkeley: “ but yet 
they were almost the only silver coin we had: 
and when these fellows would not take them, for 
all we could say, we were obliged to pay them 
chiefly in copper. While we sent hither and 
thither, to the grocer’s and the draper’s—^ ” 

“ And the bank, ’’observed Cavendish, conse- 
quentially. 

^‘ Aye, aye: but we sent to the nearest places 
first, for there was no time to lose. While, as 
I was saying, the messengers were gone, the 
paupers got round poor Pye, and abused him 
heartily. I began to think of proposing an ad- 


THE KALEHAM RIOT. 


87 


journment to the court-yard, for I really expect- 
ed they would kick him down the steps into the 
street.” 

“ Poor innocent man ! What could they 
abuse him for?” asked Melea. 

‘‘ Only for not having his till full of coin, as 
it used to be. As if it was not as great a hard- 
ship to him as to his neighbours, to have no 
change. He is actually obliged, he tells me, to 
throw together his men’s wages so as to make 
an even sum in pounds, and pay them in a lump, 
leaving them to settle the odd shillings and 
pence among themselves.” 

With a bank in the same street !” exclaimed 
Fanny. 

Cavendish declared that his bank issued 
change as fast as it could be procured, but that 
it all disappeared immediately, except the 
halfpence, in which, therefore, they made as 
large a proportion of their payments as their 
customers would receive. People began to use 
canvass bags to carry their change in; and no 
wonder; since there were few pockets that 
would bear fifteen shillings’ worth of halfpence. 
The bank daily paid away as much as fifteen 
shillings’ worth to one person. 


88 


THE HALEHAM RIOT. 


Mr. Berkeley avouched the partners ol’ the 

D bank to be equally at a loss to guess 

where all the coin issued by them went to. Mrs. 
Cavendish complained of the difficulty of shop- 
ping and marketing without change. Miss Egg 
feared Mr. Longe must be at great trouble in 
collecting his dues of tithes; and the rector 
took advantage of the hint to represent his re- 
quiring them in kind as proceeding from con- 
sideration for the convenience of the farmers. 

All agreed that the present state of the mon- 
ey system of the country was too strange and 
inconvenient to last long. Though some peo- 
ple seemed to be growing rich in a very extra- 
ordinary way, and there v/as therefore a party 
every where to insist that all was going right, 
the complaints of landlords, stipendiaries, and 
paupers would make themselves heard and 
attended to, and the convenience of all who 
were concerned in exchanges could not be long 
thwarted, if it was desired to avoid very disa- 
greeable consequences. 

So the matter was settled in anticipation by 
the party in Mr. Cavendish’s drawing-room, 
immediately after which the Berkeleys took 
their leave, attended by Mr. Longe. 


WINE AND WISDOM 


89 


CHAPTER IV. 

WINE AND WISDOM. 

A CHANGE ’was indeed inevitable, as Mr. Cav- 
endish well knew; and to prepare for it had 
been the great object of his life for some time 
past. To make the most of his credit, while 
the credit of bankers was high, was what he 
talked of to his wife as the duty of a family 
man; and she fully agreed in it, as she well 
might, since she had brought him a little fortune, 
which had long ago been lost, partly through 
speculation, and partly through the extrava- 
gance which had marked the beginning of their 
married life. Mrs. Cavendish had not the 
least objection to getting this money back again, 
if it could be obtained by her husband’s credit; 
and she spared no pains to lessen the family ex- 
penses, and increase, by her influence, the dis- 
posable means of the bank, on the understand- 
ing that, as soon as the profits should amount 
to a sufficient sum, they should be applied to 
the purchase of an estate, which was to be set- 
tled upon herself Thus she would not only re- 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


00 

gain her due, but some resource would be se- 
cured in case of the very probable chance of a 
crash before all Mr. Cavendish’s objects were 
attained. Economy was therefore secretly 
practised by both in their respective depart- 
ments, while they kept up a show of opulence ; 
and the activity of the gentleman in his various 
concerns procured him the name of Jack of all 
trades. Nobody could justly say, however, 
that he was master of none; for in the art of 
trading with other people’s money he was an 
adept. 

When he opened his bank, his disposable 
means were somewhat short of those with which 
bankers generally set up business. He had, 
"^^ke others, the deposits lodged by customers, 
A^hich immediately amounted to a considerable 
sum, as he did not disdain to receive the small- 
est deposits, used no ceremony in asking for 
them from all the simple folks who came in his 
way, and offered a larger interest than common 
upon them. He had also the advantage of 
lodgments of money to be transmitted to some 
distant place, or paid at some future time; and 
he could occasionally make these payments in 
the paper of his bank. Again, he had his own 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


91 


notes, which he circulated very extensively, 
without being particularly scrupulous as to 
whether he should be able to answer the de- 
mands they might bring upon him. One class 
of disposable means, however, he managed to 
begin banking without, — and that was, capital 
of his own. The little that he had, and what 
he had been able to borrow, were invested in 
the corn, coal, and timber concern; and upon 
this concern the bank wholly depended. He 
undersold all the corn, coal, and timber mer- 
chants in the county, which it was less imme- 
diately ruinous to do when prices were at the 
highest than either before or after; and, by thus 
driving a trade, he raised money enough to 
meet the first return of his notes. This ner- 
vous beginning being got over, he went on flour- 
ishingly, getting his paper out in all directions, 
and always contriving to extend his other busi- 
ness in proportion, by a greater or less degree 
of underselling, till he began to grow so san- 
guine, that his wife took upon herself the task of 
watching whether he kept cash enough in the 
bank to meet any unexpected demand. The 
money thus kept in hand yielding no interest, 
while every other employment of banker’s cap- 


92 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


ital, — the discounting of bills, the advance- 
ment of money in overdrawn accounts, and the 
investment in government securities, — does 
yield interest, bankers are naturally desirous of 
keeping as small a sum as possible in this un- 
productive state; and never banker ventured to 
reduce his cash in hand to a smaller amount 
than Cavendish. His wife perpetually asked 
him how he was prepared for the run of a sin- 
gle hour upon his bank, if such a thing should 
happen.^ to which he as often replied by ask- 
ing when he had ever pretended to be so pre- 
pared? and, moreover, what occasion there 
was to be so prepared, when nobody was dream- 
ing of a run, and when she knew perfectly well 
that the best' thing he could do would be to stop 
payment at the very commencement of a panic, 
having beforehand placed all his property out 
of the reach of his creditors. 

Such were his means, and such the principles 
of his profits; — means which could be success- 
fidly employed, principles which could be plau- 
sibly acted upon, only in the times of banking 
run mad, when, the currency having been des- 
perately tampered with, the door was opened to 
abuses of every sort; and the imprudence of 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


93 


some parties encouraged the knavery of others, 
to the permanent injury of every class of socie- 
ty in turn. 

As for the expenses of the Haleham bank, 
they were easily met. The owner of the house 
took out the rent and repairs in coals; and 
Enoch Pye was paid in the same way for the 
necessary stationary, stamps, Sj.c. ; so that there 
remained only the taxes, and the salaries of the 
people employed — a part of the latter being de- 
tained as deposits. Thus Mr. Cavendish 
achieved his policy of having as many incom- 
ings and as few outgoings, except his own notes, 
as possible. 

It is not to be supposed but that Cavendish 
suffered much from apprehension of his credit 
being shaken, not by any circumstances which 
should suggest the idea of a run to his confid- 
ing neighbours, but through the watchfulness 
of other banking firms. As it is for the inter- 
est of all banks that banking credit should be 
preserved, a jealous observation is naturally 
exercised by the fraternity, the consciousness 
of which must be extremely irksome to the un- 
sound. The neighbourhood of the Berkeley 
family was very unpleasant to the Cavendishes, 


94 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


though no people could be more unsuspicious 
or less prying: such, at least, was the charac- 
ter of the ladies; and Mr. Berkeley was, 
though a shrewd man, so open in his manner, 
and, notwithstanding a strong tinge of world- 
liness, so simple in his ways of thinking and 
acting, that even Mr. Cavendish would have 
had no fear of him, but for the fact of his hav- 
ing a son of high reputation as a man of bu- 
siness in a bank in London. Cavendish could 
not bear to hear of Horace; and dreaded, 
above all things, the occasional visits of the 
young man to his family. Never, since he 
settled at Haleham, had he been so panic- 
struck, as on learning, in the next spring, that 
Horace had been seen alighting at his father’s 
gate from the stage-coach from London. 

Horace’s sisters were little more prepared 
for his arrival than Mr. Cavendish. There 
was some mystery in his visit, as they judged 
from the shortness of the notice he gave them, 
from its being an unusual time of year for him 
to take holiday, and from their father’s alterna- 
tions of mood. Yet it seemed as if Horace 
had never been so much wanted. Fanny, es- 
pecially, needed his support in her rejection of 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


95 


Mr. Longe, whom her father was disposed not 
only to favour, but almost to force upon her. 
In his gloomy moods, he told her that she little 
knew what she was about in refusing such an 
establishment, and recurred to the old intima- 
tion, that his daughters had better prepare 
themselves for a reverse of fortune. When in 
high spirits, he wearied Fanny with jests on 
Mr. Longe ’s devotion to her, and with exhibi- 
tions of all his accomplishments; and when 
prevailed upon to quit the subject, he let her 
see, in the midst of all his professions about 
leaving perfect liberty of choice to his children, 
that he meant never to forgive Mr. Longe ’s 
final rejection. Melea, and even Mrs. Berke- 
ley, could do nothing but sympatiiize and hope: 
Horace was the only one who could effectually 
interfere. Did he come for this purpose? the 
sisters asked one another; or was it, could it 
be, to interfere with some one else, who was as 
much less acceptable than Mr. Longe to their 
father, as he was more so to themselves? 
Could Horace be come, Melea wondered, to 
call Henry Craig to account for being at the 
house so often? 

It was a great relief to her to find Horace’s 


9B WINE AND WISDOM. 

head so full of business as it appeared to be 
She would have complained of this, if sucli 
had been his mood during his last visit; but 
now she had no objection to see him turn from 
his favourite bed of hepaticas and jonquils, to 
answer with animation some question of his 
father’s about the price of gold; and when, for 
the first time in her life, she had dreaded riding 
with him between the hawthorn hedges, and 
over the breezy downs which they used to haunt 
as children, her spirits actually rose, because, 
at the most interesting point of the ride, he 
woke out of a reverie to ask what proportion 
of Cavendish’s notes, in comparison with oth- 
er kinds of money, she supposed to be in the 
hands of the poorer sort of her acquaintance 
in the town. 

In fact, nothing was further from Horace’s 
thoughts, when he came down, than any inter- 
vention in favour of or against either of the 
clergymen, however much interest he felt in 
his sister’s concerns, when he became a witness 
of what was passing. The reason of his jour- 
ney was, that he wished to communicate with 
his father on certain suspicious appearances, 
which seemed to indicate that all was not going 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


97 


on right at Cavendish’s; and also to give his 

opinion to the partners of the D bank as to 

what steps they should take respecting some 
forged notes, for which payment had lately been 
demanded of them. When two or three ex- 
cursions to D had been made by the father 

and son, and when, on three successive days, 
they had remained in the dining-room for hours 
after tea was announced, the ladies began to 
grow extremely uneasy as to the cause of all 
this consultation, — of their father’s gravity and 
Horace’s reveries. Horace perceived this, 
and urged his father to take the whole of their 
little family into his confidence, intimating the 
comfort that it would be to him to be able to 
open his mind to his daughters when his son 
mu^t leave him, and the hardship that it was to 
his mother to be restrained from speaking of 
that which was uppermost in her mind to those 
in whose presence she lived every hour of the 
day. It was difficult to imagine what could be 
Mr. Berkeley’s objection to confidence in this 
particular instance, while it was his wont to 
speak openly of his affairs to all his children 
alike. He made some foolish excuses, — such 
as asking what girls should know about bank- 
VoL. I.—G 


98 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


ing affairs, and how it was possible that they 
should care about the matter ? — excuses so fool- 
ish, that his son was convinced that there was 
some other reason at. the bottom of this reserve. 
Whatever it was, however, it gave way at 
length; and Horace had permission to tell them 
as much as he pleased. 

“ Must you go, mother?’’ he asked that af- 
ternoon, as Mrs. Beidceley rose to leave the 
table after dinner. ‘‘ We want you to help us 
to tell my sisters what we have been consulting 
about ever since I came.” 

The ladies instantly resumed their seats. 

“ How frightened Fanny looks!” observed 
her father, laughing; ‘‘ and Melea is bracing 
herself up, as if she expected to see a ghost. 
My dears, what are you afraid of?” 

‘‘ Nothing, father; but suspense has tried us 
a little, that is all. We believe you would not 
keep bad news from us; but we have hardly 
known what to think or expect for some days 
past.” 

‘‘ Expect nothing, my dears; for nothing par- 
ticular is going to happen, that I know of; and 
it may do me a serious injury if you look as if 
you believed there was. The bank is not going 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


99 


to fail; nor am I thinking of locking up Fanny, 
because she will not accept Mr. Longe. Fan- 
ny shall have her own way about that; and I 
will never mention the fellow to her again.” 

Fanny burst into tears; and her father, in- 
stead of showing any of his usual irritation on 
this subject, drew her to him, and said he was 
sorry for having teased her so long about a 
shabby, boasting, artful wretch, who deserved 
to be posted for a swindler. 

‘‘Father!” exclaimed Melea, who thought 
this judgment upon Mr. Longe as extravagant 
in one direction as the former in another. 

“ I would not say exactly that,*’ interposed 
Horace; “but there is no question about his 
being unworthy of Fanny; and I would do all 
I fairly could to prevent his having her, if she 
liked him ever so well. As she does not like 
him, there is no occasion to waste any more 
words upon him.” 

As Horace laid an emphasis on the last word, 
Melea’s heart rose to her lips. Henry’s name 
was to come next, she feared. The name, how- 
ever was avoided. Her father put his arm 
round her as she sat next him, saying, — 

As for you, my little Melea, we shall let 


100 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


you alone about such matters for some years to 
^ome. When you are five-and-twenty,* like 
Fanny, we may teaze you as we have been 
teazing her; but what has a girl of eighteen to 
do with such grave considerations as settling in 
life? You are too young for cares, dear. Be 
free and gay for a few years, while you can ; 
and remember that it is only in novels that girls 
marry under twenty now-a-days. Trust your 
best friend for wishing to make you happy, and 
helping you to settle, when the right time and 
the right person come together.” 

Melea smiled amidst a few tears. She owned 
that this was very kindly said; but she did not 
the less feel that it was not at all to the purpose 
of her case, and that she could not depute it to 
anybody to judge when was the right time, and 
who was the right person. 

“ Fanny is longing to know what has so sud- 
denly changed your opinion of her suitor,” ob- 
served Mrs. Berkeley, in order to give Melea 
time to recover. “ Unless you explain yourself, 
my dear, she will run away with the notion that 
he has actually been swindling.” 

Mr. Berkeley thought such transactions as 
Longe’s deserved a name very nearly as bad as 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


101 


swindling. Horace, who had for particular rea- 
sons been enquiringlately into the characters of 
the whole Cavendish connexion, had learned that 
liongehad debts, contracted when at college, and 
that he had been paying off some of them in a 
curious manner lately. He had not only insisted 
on taking his tithe in kind, and on being paid 
his other dues in the legal coin of the realm, — 
which he had an undoubted right to do; but 
he had sold his guineas at twenty-seven shil- 
lings, and even his dollars at six shillings; while 
he had paid his debts in bank-notes; — -in those 
of his cousin’s bank wherever he could contrive 
to pass them. 

‘‘ Shabby, very shabby,” Horace pronounced 
this conduct, and, as far as selling the coin went, 
illegal ; but it was no more than many worthier 
people were doing now, under the strong tempta- 
tion held out by the extraordinary condition of 
the currency. Those are chiefly to blame for 
such frauds who had sported with the circulat- 
ing medium, and brought the whole system of 
exchanges into its present ticklish state. 

‘‘ How came it into this state?” asked Melea. 
“ Who began meddling with it? We shall never 
understand, unless you tell us from the begin- 
ning.” 


102 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


‘‘ From the very beginning, Melea? From 
the days when men used to exchange wheat 
against bullocks, and clothing of skins against 
wicker huts?” 

‘‘ No, no. We can imagine a state of bar- 
ter; and we have read of the different kinds of 
rude money in use when people first began to 
see the advantage of a circulating medium; — 
skins in one country, shells in another, and 
wedges of salt in a third: and we know that 
metals were agreed upon among civilized poeple, 
as being the best material to make money 
of; and that to save the trouble of perpetually 
examining the pieces, they were formed and 
stamped, and so made to signify certain values. 
And ” 

‘‘ And do you suppose they always keep the 
same value in reality; supposing them of the 
due weight and fineness?” 

‘‘No, certainly. They become of less and 
greater value in proportion to the quantity 
of them ; in the same way as other commodi- 
ties are cheap or dear in proportion to the sup- 
ply in the market. And I suppose this is the 
reason why money is now so cheap, — there 
being a quantity of paper money in the market 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


103 


in addition to the coin there was before. Bu 
then, I cannot understand where the coin is all 
gone, if it be true that we have too much money 
in consequence of its circulating together with 
paper.” 

‘‘ The coin is gone abroad, and more paper 
still has taken the place of it. This is proved 
by two circumstances; first, that all commodities 
except money have risen in price ; and secondly, 
that we have more foreign goods than usual in 
the market, notwithstanding the war.” 

“ To be sure, less of every thing being given 
in exchange for one thing proves that there is 
more of that one thing to be disposed of. And 
the foreign goods you speak of pour in, I sup- 
pose in return for the gold we send abroad.” 

“Yes. A guinea buys nearly as much 
abroad as it bought three years ago, while it 
buys much less at home, — (unless indeed it be 
sold in an illegal manner.) Our guineas are 
therefore sent abroad, and goods come in 
return.” 

Fanny thought it had been also illegal to ex- 
port guineas. So it was, her father told her; 
but the chances of escaping detection were so 
great that many braved the penalty for the sake 


104 


WINE i.ND WISDOM. 


of the speculation; and, in fact, the greater part of 
the money issued by the mint was so disposed of. 
He took up the newspaper of the day, and 
showed her an account of a discovery that had 
been made on board a ship at Dover. This ship, 
— the New Union, of London — was found on the 
first search to contain four thousand and fifty 
guineas; and there was every reason to believe 
that a much larger sum was on board, concealed 
in places hollowed out for the reception of gold. 
Horace told also of a ship being stopped on 
leaving port, the week before, on board of which 
ten thousand guineas had been found. 

“ What an enormous expense it must be to 
coin so much money in vain!” exclaimed Fanny. 
“ It seems as if the bankers and the government 
worked in direct opposition to each other ; the 
one issuing paper to drive out gold; and the 
other supplying more money continually to de- 
preciate the value of that which the banks put 
out.” 

And in putting out paper money,” observed 
Melea, we seem to throw away the only regu- 
lator of the proportion of money to commodi- 
ties. While we have coin only, we may be 
pretty sure that when there is too much of it, it 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


105 


will go away to buy foreign goods; and when 
too little, that more will flow in from foreigners 
coming to buy of us: but our banker’s notes 
not being current out of England, we may be 
flooded with them and find no vent.” 

‘‘And then,” observed Mrs. Berkeley, sigh- 
ing, as if with some painful recollection, “ comes 
a lessening of the value of money; and then 
follow laws to forbid the value being lessened; 
and next, of course, breaches of the law ” 

“ A law !” exclaimed Melea. “ Was there 
ever a law to prevent an article which is par- 
ticularly plentiful being cheap? It seems to me 
that the shortest and surest way for the law- 
makers is to destroy the superabundance, and 
thus put cheapness out of the question.” 

Horace' laughed, and asked what she thought 
of a government that first encouraged an un- 
limited issue of paper money by withdrawing 
the limitations which had previously existed, and 
then made a solemn declaration that the notes 
thus issued were and must remain, in despite 
of their quantity, of the same value as the 
scarce metal they were intended to represent. 
Melea supposed this an impossible case; a 
caricature of human folly. 


106 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


Do you mean,” said she, that if where 
there had been a hundred pounds in gold to ex- 
change against commodities, eighty of them dis- 
appeared, and a hundred and eighty pound notes 
were added, those two hundred notes and pounds 
were each to buy as much as when there was 
only one hundred? Did the government de- 
clare this?” 

Its declaration was precisely on this 
principle.” 

How very absurd ! It is only condemning 
half the money to remain over, unused, when 
the commodities are all exchanged.” 

It might as well have been thrown into the 
fire before the exchanging began,” observed 
F anny . 

“If it had been held in a common stock,” 
replied her brother: “but as long as it is pri- 
vate property, how is it to be determined whose 
money shall be destroyed?” 

“ Or whose to remain unused,” added Melea. 

“ Is it not to be supposed,” asked Horace, 
“ that the buyers and sellers will make any kind 
of sly and circuitous bargain which may enable 
them to suit their mutual convenience, or that 
the buyers will, if possible, avoid buying, rather 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


107 


than submit to have half their money rendered 
useless by an interference which benefits no- 
body?’’ 

“ The buyers and sellers will come to a quiet 
compromise,” observed Fanny. “ The seller 
will say, ‘ You shall have thirty shillings’ worth 
of goods for two pound notes, which will be bet- 
ter worth your while than getting nothing in ex- 
change for your second note, and better worth 
my while than letting you slip as a customer, 
though I, in my turn, shall get only thirty shil- 
lings’ worth for these two notes. ’ And the buyer 
agreeing to this, the notes will continue to cir- 
culate at the value of fifteen shillings each.” 

“ In defiance of the punishment of the law,” 
added Mrs. Berkeley, again sighing. 

“ One would think,” observed her husband, 
“ that there are crimes and misdemeanours 
enough for the law to take notice of, without 
treating as such contracts which, after all, are 
as much overruled by the natural laws of distri- 
bution as by the will of the contractors. It 
would be as wise to pillory by the side of a 
sheep-stealer, a man who sells potatoes dear 
after a bad season, as to fine a man for getting 
a little with his depreciated money, rather than 


108 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


get nothing at all. Your mother could tell you 
of something worse than any fine that has been 
inflicted for such a factitious offence.” 

Melea gives us up, I see,” said Horace. 
“ She can never esteem us again, father, while 
we are aiding and abetting in circulating this 
horrible paper money. She would make a bon- 
fire of all the bank notes in Great Britian as they 
are returned to the bankers. Would not you, 
Melea.?” 

“ I do not see why I should run into such an 
extreme,” she replied. “ If there were no means 
of limiting the quantity of paper money, I might 
speculate on such a bonfire ; but if a moderate 
amount of bank notes saves the expense of using 
gold and silver, I do not see why the saving 
should not be made.” 

‘‘ If white ware and glass answered all the 
purposes of gold and silver plate,” observed Fan- 
ny, it would be wise to set apart our gold and 
silver to make watches, and other things that are 
better made of the precious metals than of any- 
thing else. — What do you suppose to be the ex- 
pense of a metallic currency to this country, 
Horace?” 

Horace believed that the expense of a gold 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


109 


currency was about one million to every ten mil- 
lions circulated: that is, that the 10 per cent, 
profit which the metal would have brought, if 
employed productively, is lost by its being used 
as a circulating medium. This, however, is not 
the only loss to the country, the wear of coin, 
and its destruction by accidents, being consid- 
erable; besides which, much less employment is 
afforded by coining, than by working up gold for 
other purposes. Supposing the gold currency of 
the country to be thirty millions, the expense of 
providing it could scarcely be reckoned at less 
than four millions; a sum which it is cert uinly 
desirable to save, if it can be done by fair 
means. 

‘‘The metals being bought by our goods,’* 
observed Fanny, “ it seems to be a clear loss to 
use them unproductively. The only question 
therefore appears to be whether bank notes make 
a good substitute. They might, I suppose, by 
good management, be made sufficiently steady 
in value. They might, by common agreement, 
be made to signifyany varietyof convenient sums. 
They may be much more easily carried about ; a 
note for the largest sum being no heavier than 
for the smallest. There is not the perfect like- 


liO 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


ness of one to another that there is in coins of 
the same denomination, but the nature of the 
promise they bear upon their faces serves as an 
equivalent security. As to their durability and 
their beauty, there is little to be said.” 

“ As to their beauty, very little,” replied Hor- 
ace; “ for, if a new bank note is a pretty thing, 
few things are uglier than a solid, and pasted, 
and crumpled one. But, with respect to their 
durability, you should remember that it signifies 
little in comparison with that of a medium which 
is also a commodity. If a bank note is burned, 
the country looses nothing. It is the misfortune 
of the holder, and a gain to the banker from 
whose bank it was issued.” 

‘‘ Like a guinea being dropped in the street, 
and presently picked up,” observed Melea. — 
“ It is not lost, but only changes hands by ac- 
cident. Yet it seems as if there must be a loss 
when a lOOZ. bank note goes up the chimney in 
smoke, leaving only that below with which child- 
ren may play ‘ there goes the parson, and there 
goes the clerk.’ ” 

“ Nay,” said Horace, ‘‘ consider what a 
bank note is. What are the essentials of a 
bank note, Melea. 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


Ill 


“ It would be strange if we did not know 
what a bank note was, would it not, father, 
when you have been spreading them before our 
eyes continually for this twelvemonth? First 
comes ‘ I promise to pay ’ ’’ 

‘‘ Never mind the words. The words in 
which the promise is made are not essential.” 

“ A bank note is a promissory note for a defi- 
nite sum; and it must be stamped.” 

‘‘ And payable on demand. Do not forget 
that, pray. It is this which makes it differ from 
all other promissory notes. — Well, now: what is 
the intrinsic value of a bank note? Its cost of 
production is so small as to be scarcely calcu- 
lable.” 

“It is, in fact, circulating credit,” observed 
Melea, “ which is certainly not among the 
things which can be destroyed by fire.” 

“It is only the representative of value which 
goes off in smoke,” observed Horace. “ The 
value remains.” 

“ Where? In what form?” 

“ That depends upon the nature of the paper 
currency. Before bank notes assumed their 
present form, — when they were merely promis- 
sory notes, which it occurred to bankers to dis*- 


112 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


count as they would any other kind of bills, the 
property of the issuers was answerable for them, 
like the goods of any merchant who pays in 
bills; and the extent of the issue was determined 
by the banker’s credit. Then came the time 
when all bank notes were convertible into coin, 
at the pleasure of the holder; and then the val- 
ue, of which the notes were the representatives, 
lay in the banker’s coffers, in the form of gold 
and silver money. As for the actual value of 
the Bank of England notes issued since the 
Restriction Act passed, you had better ask some- 
body else where it is deposited, and in what 
form, for I cannot pretend to tell you. I only 
know that the sole security the public has for 
ever recovering it lies in the honour of the 
managers of the Bank of England.” 

“ What is that Restriction Act?” asked Me- 
lea. ‘T have heard of it till I am weary of the 
very name ; and I have no clear notion about it, 
except that it passed in 1797.” 

“ Before this time,” replied her brother, “ by 
this 9th of May, 1814, every banker’s daughter 
in England ought to be familiar with the cur- 
rency romance of 1797.” 

“ In order to be prepared for the catastrophe,” 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


m 


muttered Mr. Berkeley, who had forebodings 
which made the present subject not the most 
agreeable in the world to him. 

“ First, what is the Bank of England?’^ asked 
Fanny. “ It is the greatest Bank of deposit and 
circulation in the world, I know; but to whom 
does it belong, and how did it arise 

‘‘ It came into existence a little more than a 
hundred years before the great era of its life, — 
the period of restriction. Government wanted 
money very much in 1694, and a loan was 
raised, the subscribers to which received eight 
per cent, interest, and 4000?. a-year for mana- 
ging the affair, and were presented with a char- 
ter, by which they were constituted a banking 
company, with peculiar privileges.” 

“ No other banking company is allowed to 
consist of more than six persons; this is one of 
their privileges, is it not?” 

Yes; it was added in 1708, and has done a 
vast deal of mischief; and will do more, I am 
afraid, before it is abolished.* — The very cir-^ 
curnstances of the origin of the Bank of Eng- 

* Some years after the date of this conversation, i. e. in 
1826, permission was given for banking companies, notwith^ 
in 65 miles of London^ to consist of any number of partners 
VoL. I.—H 


114 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


land brought it, you see, into immediate con- 
nexion with the government, under whose pro- 
tection it has remained ever since. Its charter 
has been renewed as often as it expired; and 
has still to run till a year’s notice after the first 
of August, 1833. The government and the 
Bank have helped one another in their times of 
need; the bank lending money to government, 
and the government imposing the restriction we 
were talking of in the very extremity of time 
to prevent the Bank stopping payment. It also 
afforded military protection to the establishment 
at the time of the dreadful riots in 1780.” 

“ Well: now for the Restriction Act.” 

“ At that memorable time, from 1794 to 1797, 
the Bank had to send out much more money 
than was convenient or safe. We were at war; 
there were foreign loans to be raised; heavy 
bills were drawn from abroad on the Treasury; 
and the government asked for large and still 
larger advances, till the Bank had made enor- 
mous issues of notes, and was almost drained 
of the coin it had promised to pay on demand. 
It was just at this time that the French inva- 
sion was expected; every body was seized with 
a panic, and a general rush was made to the 


Wlx\E AND WISDOM. 


115 


country banks, several of which could not an- 
swer so sudden a demand for cash, and failed. 
The panic spread to London, and the Bank of 
England was beset on every side. On Satur- 
day, the 25th of February, 1797, the coffers of 
the Bank had very little money in them; and 
there was every prospect of a terrible run on 
the Monday. This was the time when govern- 
ment made its celebrated interference. It is- 
used an order, on the Sunday, that the Bank 
should not pay away any cash till parliament 
had been consulted; and this was the news with 
which the tremendous throng of claimants was 
met on the Monday morning.” 

“ I wonder it did not cause as fierce a riot as 
that of 1780,” observed Fanny. “ It is such 
an intolerable injustice to induce people to take 
promissory notes on condition of having cash 
whenever they please, and then to get govern- 
ment to prohibit the promise being kept!” 

“ There would have been little use in riot- 
ing,” replied Horace. ‘‘ Things were brought 
to such a pass that the Bank must either fail 
that day, or defer the fulfilment of its engage- 
ments; and as things were at this pass, the re- 
striction was perhaps the best expedient that 


116 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


could have been adopted. Nobody, however, 
supposed that the prohibition would have been 
continued to this day. Here we are, in 1814, 
and the Bank has not begun to pay off its pro- 
missory notes yet.” 

“ Then what security is there against an in- 
undation of promissory notes that may never be 
paid?” 

‘‘ None whatever, but in the honour of the 
Directors of the Bank of England. There ap- 
pears to be good ground for trusting in this 
honour; but a better security ought, in a mat- 
ter of such paramount importance, to have been 
provided long ago. — But we have not spoken 
yet of the Act of Restriction ; only of the Or- 
der in Council. — As soon as parliament met, a 
committee inquired into the affairs of the Bank, 
and found them in very good condition; and 
parliament therefore decreed the restriction to 
remain till six months after the conclusion of 
peace.” 

But there has been peace since that time.’ 

“Yes; and there will be another, very likely, 
before the Bank pays cash again. It is much 
easier to quit cash payments than to resume 
them; the temptation to an over-issue is so 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


117 


great when responsibility is destroyed, and es- 
pecially when moderation at the outset has pro- 
pitiated public confidence.” 

“Then there was moderation at first?” 

“ For three years after the restriction, the 
issues were so moderate, that the notes of the 
Bank of England were esteemed a little more 
valuable than gold, and actually bore a small 
premium. Then there was an over-issue, and 
their value fell; afterwards it rose again; and 
it has since fluctuated, declining on the whole, 
till now?” 

“And what are Bank of England notes 
worth now?” 

“ Less than they have ever been. So long 
ago as 1810 , parliament declared that there had 
been an over-issue, and recommended a return 
to cash payments in two years; but four years 
are gone, and cash payments are not begun, 
and the depreciation of the Bank notes is great- 
er than ever.” 

‘ That is partly owing, I suppose,” said 
Fanny, “ to the increase of country banks. 
Melea and I could count several new ones 
within our recollection.” 

‘ At the time of the restriction, there were 


118 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


fewer than three hundred country banks in ex- 
istence; there are now more than seven hun- 
dred.” 

And are so many wanted?” 

“ We shall soon see,” muttered Mr. Berke- 
ley. “ I much doubt whether there will be 
two-thirds the number by this day twelvemonth. 
— Aye, you may well look frightened, girls. 
Confidence is shaken already, I can tell you ; 
and even you can see what is likely to follow 
when banking credit is impaired.” 

“ If these terrible consequences happen, fa- 
ther, will you attribute them to the Bank of 
England being excused from paying cash?” 

“ That first destroyed the balance of the cur- 
rency, which will have much to do to right it- 
self again. Formerly, the Bank and its cus- 
tomers were a check upon each other, as are 
paper and gold, when the one is convertible 
into the other. As the profits of the Bank de- 
pend on the amount of its issues, the public is 
always sure of having money enough, while 
affairs take their natural course. — On the other 
hand, the public was as sure to make the Bank 
lose by an over-issue ; since an over-issue rais- 
es the price of gold, which makes people eager 


WINE AND WISDOBI. 


119 


to have gold for their notes, which again, of 
course, obliges the Bank to buy gold at a loss 
to coin money to pay for their own over-issues. 
Now, by this penalty being taken from over 
their heads, the balance of checks is destroyed. 
The people are more sure than ever of having 
money enough ; but there is no security what- 
ever against their having too much. Witness 
the state of our currency at this hour.’- 

“If we could but contrive any security 
against over-issue,” observed Melea, “ we 
might do without coin (or at least gold coin) 
entirely: but, as there does not appear to be 
any such, I suppose we must go on with a mix- 
ed currency. What a pity such an expense 
cannot be saved!” 

“And it is the more vexatious when one 
thinks of the loss by hoarding,” observed Fan- 
ny. “No one would think of hoarding paper.” 

“ Certainly; if it was the only sort of mon- 
ey.” 

“ Well; many do hoard gold, — ^besides Mrs. 
Parndon. How many years will her guineas 
have been lying by when she dies! — (and I do 
not believe she will part with them but in death.) 
They might have doubled themselves by this 


120 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


time, perhaps, if they had been pilt to use in 
stead of being buried in her garden, or under 
the floor, or among the feathers in her feather- 
bed, or wherever else they may be.” 

“I was going to ask,” said Horace, ‘‘how 
she comes to make public such an act as hoard- 
ing: but you seem not to know the place of de- 
posit.” 

Fanny explained that not even Hester knew 
more than that her mother had a stock of hoarded 
guineas; and she had mentioned it only to such 
particular friends as the Berkeleys. 

“ The Cavendishes are not on the list of 
particular friends then, I suppose,” observed 
Horace, “ or there would have been an end of 
the hoarding before this time. Mr. Cavendish 
does not approve of any reserves of guineas 
within twenty miles of his bank. ” 

Melea was struck by her brother’s counte- 
nance and manner, whenever he mentioned Mr. 
Cavendish. There was now something more 
conveyed by both than the good-humoured con- 
tempt with which the whole family had been 
accustomed to regard the man. 

“ Horace,” said she, “ I never suspected 
you of hating any body before; but now I do 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


121 


believe you hate Mr. Cavendish. I wish you 
would tell us why ; for I had rather think worse 
of him than of you.” 

“Yes, dear, I will tell you why; and this 
was what you were to hear this afternoon.” 

Mr. Berkeley moved uneasily in his chair, 
and his wife stole anxious glances at him, 
while Horace related that the proprietors of 

the D bank had been for some time aware 

that forgeries of their notes were circulating 
pretty extensively; that inquiries had in conse- 
quence been secretly made, under Horace’s 
direction, in oxder to the fraud being put a stop 
to; that these inquiries had issued in the deed 
being brought home to the parties. 

“ O, we shall have a trial and execution,” 
groaned Fanny. 

jNo such thing, her brother assured her. In 
times when banking credit did not, at the best, 
keep its ground very firmly, there was every in- 
due ement to a bank not to shake it further by 
publishing the fact that notes circulating in its 
name were not to be trusted. The fact of this 
forgery had been kept a profound secret by the 
partners of the D bank. 


122 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


1 


‘‘ But what is the consequence to the holders 
of the forged notes?” 

“ Nothing. We pay them on demand with- 
out remark.” 

“ But what a loss to the bank, if the forgery 
is extensive!” 

Mr. Berkeley observed gloomily that he had 
given cash payment for two forged bl. notes, 
and one of 10/. this very morning. Yet this 
loss was preferable to exposing the credit of the 
bank to any shock; at least, when there were 
the means of stopping the forged issue. 

“ Then you have certainly discovered the 
parties?” 

‘‘ I saw the principal shipped for America the 
day I left London,” replied Horace; “and 
the rest know that we have our eye upon them. 
The only doubtful thing now is whether we may 
take their word for the amount they have is- 
sued. Another month will show.” 

“ Do all your notes come back to you within 
a few weeks, father?” asked Melea “I 
thought they remained out for years. I am 
sure I have more than one note of the D — - 
bank that is above a year old.” 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


123 


‘‘Yes; some are now circulating that belong- 
ed to the first issue after I became a partner; 
but these have been re-issued. We reckon that 
most of our notes come back within six weeks.” 

“ You did not surely suppose,” said Horace, 
“ that new notes are issued every time? Why 
should not the old ones be used as long as they 
will last?” 

“ 1 did not know that the stamps were allow- 
ed to serve more than one turn.” 

“ This is provided for by the issuers being 
obliged to purchase a license, which costs 30/., 
and which must be annually renewed. The 
Bank of England is the only exception to this 
rule ; that establishment being permitted to com- 
pound for the stamp-duties by paying so much 
per million on its issues. It is on this point, 
(of the renewal of the license,) that we hope 
to catch Cavendish. He has not renewed with- 
in the given time.” 

“ But why should you?” cried Fanny, with 
some indignation. “ What affair is it of yours? 
Let the Stamp-office look to it; and let us mind 
our own business, instead of meddling with our 
neighbour’s.” 

“ Besides,” added Melea, “what becomes 


124 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


of the banking credit which needs to be taken 
such extraordinary care of just now? Shake 
Cavendish’s credit, and you shake that of other 
banks in some degree, according to your own 
doctrine.” 

“If he had never meddled with our credit,” 
said Mr. Berkeley, “he might have cheated 
the Stamp-office to his heart’s content, for any- 
thing we should have done to prevent it. But 
having acted the part that he has by us ” 

Fanny and Melea looked at each other with 
sorrow in their faces; which their brother ob- 
served, and quietly said, 

‘ It is not in a spirit of retaliation that we 
are going to act against Cavendish. It is ne- 
cessary, for the public safety, that his bank 
should be closed while there is a chance of its 
discharging its obligations. If it goes on 
another year, — I say this in the confidence of 
our own family circle, — it must break, and ruin 
half the people in Haleham. If Cavendish 
can be so timely beset with difficulties, — which, 
remember, he has brought on himself, — as to 
be induced to give up the bank, and confine 
himself to his other business, it is possible that 
vhose who have trusted him may get their dues, 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


i'Zc 

and that banking credit may be saved the shock 
which his failure must otherwise soon bring 
upon it.” 

‘‘ But what is the penalty?” 

‘‘ A fine of 100/. for every act of issue after 
the term of license has expired. I am now 
employed in discovering what Cavendish’s is- 
sues have been since the expiration of his li- 
cense. I hope wp may find him liable for just 
so much as may make him glad to close his 
bank for the sake of a composition; and not 
enough to ruin him; though 1 fancy it would 
not require a very heavy liability to do that.” 

“ What a hateful business to be engaged in!” 
exclaimed Melea. 

Very disagreeable indeed, Horace admitted; 

but Cavendish’s offences towards the D 

bank deserved the worst punishment they could 
bring upon him. He had known of the forge- 
ries of their notes longer than they had; and 
not only had he given them no warning, but he 
had whispered the fact elsewhere in every quar- 
ter where it could injure their credit just so far 
as to make people shy of taking their notes, 
without causing an abrupt shock, in which he 
might himself have been involved. He insin- 


126 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


iiated no doubts of the stability of their house ; 
but told several people in confidence that forge- 
ries of their notes were abroad, so well execut- 
ed, that it was scarcely possible to distinguish 
the true notes from the false. 

“ How came he to know sooner than the 
partners themselves?” inquired Melea: but 
neither father nor brother appeared to hear the 
question. 

“ May one ask about the forgers,” inquired 
Fanny, “ who they are, and how you dealt with 
them?” 

‘‘ No; you may not ask,” replied her broth- 
er, smiling. ‘‘We are bound not to tell this, 
even to our own families. Be satisfied in your 
ignorance; for it is a very sad story, and it 
would give you nothing but pain to hear it.” 

The whole party sat in silence for some min- 
utes, the girls gazing in reverie on the green 
lawn over which the evening shadows were 
stretching unnoticed. Both were meditating 
on Cavendish’s connexion with the affair of the 
forgery. The absence of all answer to Melea’s 
question looked as if he had something to do 
with the guilty parties; and yet, nothing was 
more certain than that it is the interest of all 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


127 


baiiKers, and more especially of unstable ones, 
to wage war against forgery wherever it may 
exist. 

Fanny thought it best to speak what was in 
her mind, declaring beforehand that she did so 
out of no curiosity to know what ought to be 
concealed, and without any wish for an answer, 
unless her brother chose to give her one. 

Horace was glad she had spoken, since he 
could assure her that any banker must be as 
much fool as knave who had any amicable con- 
nexion with forgers; and that, if Cavendish 
had been proved to have maintained any such, 
he would have been treated in a very different 
way from that which was now meditated against 
him. Fanny also was glad that she had spoken 
what was in her mind. The charges against 
Cavendish seemed to be, carelessness in his 
banking management, and shabby spite against 
his rivals at D . 

“ Now, promise me,” said Horace to his sis- 
ters, “that you will not fancy that all kinds of 
horrible disasters are going to happen whenev- 
er you see my father and me consulting togeth- 
er without taking you immediately into our 
councils. Promise me ” 


1:28 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


He stopped short when he saw Melea’s eve? 
full of tears. 

‘‘My dear girl,” he continued, “I did not 
mean to hurt you. I did not once think of 
such a thing as that either Fanny or you could 
be jealous, or have vanity enough to be offend- 
ed. I only meant that you were both too easily 
alarmed in this case, and I should be sorry if 
the same thing happened again. Do you know, 
you have scarcely looked me full in the face 
since I came, and I am not quite sure that you 
can do so yet.” 

Melea replied by bestowing on her brother 
one of her broadest and brightest smiles, which 
revealed the very spirit of confidence. She 
had, in turn, her complaint to make; or rather, 
her explanation to give. How was it possible, 
she asked, for Fanny and herself to avoid spec- 
ulating and foreboding, when Horace had not 
answered above half the questions they put to 
him, or inquired after half his former acquaint- 
ance, or taken any interest in his old haunts, 
or in the four-footed or vegetable favourites 
which had been cherished for his sake during 
his absence ? Fanny also pleaded her mother s 
anxious looks and long silences during the 
mornings. 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


1*29 


“ And now, what fault have you to find with 
me?” asked Mr. Berkeley. ‘‘Have you 
counted how many times I have said ‘ Pshaw’ 
within the last week?” 

“ It would have been much easier to count 
how many times you have smiled, papa,” said 
Melea, laughing. “ But if you would only 
” She stopped. 

“I know what she would say,” continued 
Horace. “ If you would only open your mind 
to your daughters as far as you can feel i.' right 
to do so, it would cause them less pain to know 
from yourself the worst that can ever happen, 
than to infer it from your state of spirits; and, 
indeed, sir, you would find great relief and 
comfort in it.” 

“ They used to complain of me for telling 
them sometimes that they must prepare to pro- 
vide for themselves.” 

“Not for telling us so, sir. There is noth- 
ing but kindness in letting us know as soon as 
possible, but — ” 

“ But you never knew when to believe me, — 
is that it? Out with it, Fanny.” 

“ We should like to know the extent of 
changes, when changes take place, if you have 

VoL. I — I 


130 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


no objection to tell us. We could prepare our- 
selves so much better then.” 

You seem to have been preparing at a vast 
rate lately, both of you. One at her German 
and Italian, and the other at her music; and 
both studying education- with might and main.” 

This was a subject on which Horace could 
never endure to dwell. He writhed under it, 
even while he persuaded himself that his father 
was not in earnest, and that the girls were so 
far like other girls as to have their heads filled 
fuller with a new idea than reason could justify. 
It was not enough that Melea sagely observed 
that the diligent study which occupied them at 
present could do them no harm, whatever for- 
tune might be in store for them: he was not 
quite at his ease till she mentioned Lewis, the 
East Indian boy who was expected over; and 
explained how much Fanny and herself wished 
to contribute towards educating him. All the 
family desired to keep Lewis at Haleham, and 
to have him domesticated with them; and if 
he could be so assisted by his cousins at home 
as to profit to the utmost by what he should gain 
at a day school, it would be much better for 
every body concerned than that he should be 


WINE AND WISDOM. 


131 


sent to a boarding-school a hundred miles off. 
This plan accounted for the eagerness of Fan- 
ny’s study of German; but how Lewis was to 
benefit by Melea’s music was left unexplained. 

This evening was the brightest of the whole 
spring in the eyes of Fanny and Melea. The 
bank had only sustained a loss, instead of being 
about to break. There was an end of Mr. 
Longe, and Horace hinted no intention of quar- 
relling with Henry Craig. The sunset was cer- 
tainly the softest of the year; the violets had 
never smelled so sweet, and even Mr. Berkeley 
acknowledged to the daughter on either arm 
that the rosary which he had planned, and they 
had tended, was the most delicious retreat he 
had buried himself in since the days of the 
green walk in his mother’s garden, of which he 
spoke with fond eloquence whenever led to 
mention his childhood. To Mrs. Berkeley 
and her son every thing did not look so sur- 
passingly bright this evening. From them no 
painful load of apprehension had been suddenly 
removed; such fears as they had had remained: 
but it was a May evening, mild and fragrant, 
and they lingered in the shrubberies till yellow 
gleams from the drav/ing-room windows remind- 
ed them that they were expected within. 


13-2 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES, 


CHAPTER V. 

HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 

Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish were at this time 
seized with a not unreasonable panic lest they 
should lose their popularity — and with it, all else 
that they had. They knew that the inhabitants 
of a country town are quick in discovering when 
friendships cool, and mutual confidence abates; 
and they feared that, when it should be perceived 
that the rector no longer rode over two or three 
times a-week to Mr. Berkeley's, and that the two 
bankers were now never seen chatting in the 
street, conjecture might begin to be busy as to 
the cause of these changes ; and they had little 
hope that their reputation would stand in any 
instance in which it should be brought into op- 
position with that of the long resident and much 
respected Berkeley family. Mrs. Cavendish 
made the most she could of the intercourse be- 
tween the ladies of the two households. Where- 
ever she dropped in, she was sure to be in a par- 
ticular hurry, because she was going to the 
Berkeleys to show Mrs. Berkeley this, or to tell 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


m 


Miss Berkeley that, or to ask dear M^elea the 
other. From every point of view she was sure 
to see the Berkeleys going towards her house, 
and she never went out but she expected to find 
on her return that they had called. The children 
were encouraged to watch for every shadow of 
an invitation, and were not children when they 
gave broad hints that they liked gathering roses 
in the rosary, and were very fond of strawber- 
ries, and very clever at haymaking, and quite 
used to pluck green pease; or that they wanted 
rlower-seeds, or anything else that could be had 
within the Berkeleys’ gates. They were very 
frequently invited, as Fanny and Melea liked to 
give pleasure even to disagreeable children, and 
would not be deterred from doing so by tlieir dis- 
approbation of the parents, or dislike of the gov- 
erness. If, however, they let a week slip away 
without an invitation, on the eighth day a pro- 
cession was sure to be seen winding up towards 
the house, viz. Miss Egg, bearing a little basket 
or bag, with some pretence of a present, — a 
cream-cheese, or a dozen smelts fresh from the 
wherry, or a specimen of some fancy in knit- 
ting, or perhaps a quite new German waltz: on 
either side of Miss Egg, various grades of tip- 


134 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


pets and bonnets, bespeaking the approach of a 
large body of strawberry-eaters; and behind, 
poor Rhoda, toiling on in the heat, with a heavy, 
crying baby, hanging half over her shoulder, 
and the pleasant idea in her mind that when she 
had taught this member of the family to use its 
legs a little more, and its lungs a little loss, it 
would only be to receive another charge, which 
would soon grow as heavy, and must inevitably 
be as fretful. The majority of the party were 
invariably offended by seeing how Rhoda was the 
first to be taken care of; — how she was made to 
sit down in the hall, the baby being taken from 
her by Melea, and a plate of fruit brought by 
Fanny, while the other visiters were supposed 
capable of making their way into the dining- 
room to pay their respects to Mrs. Berkeley, and 
talk about the heat and the sweet prospect, till 
the young ladies should be ready to lead the way 
into the shrubbery and kitchen-garden. These 
visits were made the more irksome to the Berke- 
leys, from the certainty that every thing that each 
of them said would be quoted, with their names 
at full length, twenty times during the first day: 
and that every body in Halcham would have 
heard it before the time for the next meeting 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


135 


should have come round. They were patient, 
however; too patient and good-natured, as it 
soon appeared; for the Cavendishes built upon 
their kindness to the children a hope that they 
would visit the parents on terms of seeming 
intimacy. 

Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish agreed, that the pres- 
ent time, while Mr. Berkeley was absent for a 
few days, when Horace was not likely to ap- 
pear, and before the affair of the license should 
come out, afforded a good opportunity for a bold 
stroke for popularity. Mr. Cavendish had settled 
a pretty little estate on his \vife: their wedding- 
day approached; and it would be charming to 
give a rural fete, in the midst of which, and in 
the presence of everybody in Haleham, this 
estate should be presented by the fond husband 
to the gratified wife, the children standing round 
to witness this moral display of conjugal affection. 
The idea was charming in every way; for, as it 
was Mrs. Cavendish’s party, it was not supposed 
possible that Mrs. Berkeley and her daughters 
could refuse to go, it being conveyed to them 
that Mr. Longe was at Brighton. 

It was, however, found possible for the Berke- 
leys to refuse, and for many who did not decline 


136 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


the invitation to be unavoidably prevented, by 
various devised accidents, from attending. The 
whole thing was a failure ; and up to the hour of 
the poorer part of the company showing them- 
selves, it was undecided whether the scheme 
should not, after all, change its entire character, 
and the display be transformed from one of con- 
jugal gallantry to one of rural beneficence. The 
dinner for the poor folks was boiling in the cop- 
pers, and the tables were spread under the trees ; 
and the barn was dressed up for the shop- 
keepers’ sons and daughters to dance in. These 
two parts of the scheme must go forward. But 
the marquee, pitched for the higher guests, was 
too likely to be empty; and there was little 
pleasure in a man presenting his wife with an 
estate on her wedding-day, when there were only 
poor and middling people to look on. Mr. Craig, 
however, was sure to come, and as sure to relate 
to the Berkeleys what passed; and certainly it 
was the sort of thing which must tell well. This 
consideration decided the matter. The gift was 
proffered with tenderness, and received with rap- 
ture. The husband bestowed the kiss, the wife 
shed her tears, the children wondered, the people 
for the most part admired, and those who did not 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


137 


admire, applauded; — all as planned. As he was 
desired, Mr. Craig delivered Mrs. Cavendish’s 
message of love to the Berkeleys, and of sorrow 
that their kind hearts should have lost the plea- 
sure of sympathising with her on this happy day. 
Mr. Craig added, of his own accord, that they 
might sympathize with her still, if they desired 
it; the affair being not yet over. He had left 
the fete early, and gone round by the Berkeleys’, 
on pretence of delivering his message, instead of 
proceeding straight home. 

“ How long must we sympathize?” inquired 
Fanny. “ Does she mean to keep up her happi- 
ness till twelve o’clock?” 

‘ ‘ The dancers will keep up theirs till midnight, 
I should think,” replied Henry. “ The barn is 
really a pretty sight, and the whole place is well 
lighted. If you will come with me, Melea, only 
as far as the gate, you will see the lights between 
the trees, red and green and purple. It is not 
often that Haleham has coloured lamps to 
show.” 

Melea thanked him, but coloured lights, how- 
ever pretty on some occasions, were too artifi- 
cial in a landscape like that seen from the white 
gate. 


138 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


“ Then, come and admire some that are not 
coloured. The stars are out overhead, and 1 
never saw the glow-worms so bright.’’ 

Glow-worms! are there glow-worms?” cried 
Melea. But Mrs. Berkeley wanted to hear more 
about the fete. She supposed every body was 
there. 

‘‘No, ma’am; nobody.” 

Fanny here observed, that this was the first 
time that she had ever known Henry reckon the 
ladies and gentlemen as everybody. “Who 
was dancing in the barn,” she asked, “ If no- 
body was there?” 

‘ ‘ Even that part of the affair was very flat to 
me,” said Henry. “ Those that I take the most 
interest in were either absent or uncomfort- 
able.” 

“ Who? the Martins?” 

“ I knew beforehand that they went unwil- 
lingly, so that it gave me no pleasure to see 
them there.” 

“ Well: old Enoch Pye— ” 

“ Went away almost before dinner was over, 
though he was put at the head of one of the 
tables.” 

“ He went away ! and what became of poor 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


139 


Mrs. Parndon ? Did she follow in time to take 
his arm?’’ 

She was not there; and I fancy that was 
the reason of his leaving. I believe a neigh- 
bour told him that something had happened to 
distress her.” 

“ O, what? What has happened?” cried all 
the ladies, who felt infinitely more sympathy 
for Mrs. Parndon and Hester than for Mrs. Ca- 
vendish. 

Henry knew no more than that some sort of 
bad news had come from London by this day's 
post. He would learn the next morning what it 
was, and whether he could be of any service, 
unless Melea, who was more in the widow’s con- 
fidence, would undertake the task. Henry was 
sure that Melea would make the better comforter ; 
and he would come up in the course of the 
morning, and hear whether his consolations and 
assistance were wanted. This was readily agreed 
to, as it was an understood thing that there was 
no one but her daughter whom Mrs. Parndon 
loved, and could open her mind to so well as her 
dear Miss Melea, — always excepting her old 
friend, Mr. Pye. 

Mrs. Parndon was alone, and at work as usual, 


140 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


when Melea entered her little parlour, now no 
longer dressed up with flowers, as it used to be 
while Hester lived there. The room could not 
be without ornament while the drawings of the 
late Mr. Parndon and his daughter hung against 
the walls: but, with the exception of these, 
everything indicated only neatness and thrift. 
The floor-cloth looked but a comfortless substi- 
tute for a carpet, even in the middle of summer ; 
the hearth-rug, composed of the shreds and snip- 
pings from three tailors’ boards, disposed in fancy 
patterns, was the work of the widow’s own hands. 
The window was bare of curtains, the winter 
ones being brushed and laid by, and the mistress 
seeing no occasion for muslin hangings, which 
had been only a fancy of Hester’s: so the muslin 
was taken to make covers for the pictures, and 
the mirror and the little japanned cabinet, that 
they might be preserved from the flies in summer, 
and from the dust of the fires in winter. Even 
the widow’s own footstool, pressed only by par- 
lour shoes, which were guiltless of soil, was 
cased in canvass. Everything was covered up, 
but the work-basket, crammed with shirts and 
worsted stockings, which stood at the mistress’s 
elbow. 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


ill 


She looked up eagerly as the door opened; 
but a shade of disappointment passed over he 
countenance when she saw that it was Melea, 
whom, however, she invited, in a kind but hur- 
ried manner, to sit down beside her. 

“Now, you must proceed with your work, just 
as if I was not here,” said Melea. The widow 
immediately went on seaming, observing, that 
she had indeed a great deal of work on hand. 

“ As much, I think, as when your son and 
daughter were in frocks and pinafores, and wear- 
ing out their clothes with romping and climbing. 
Does Hester send down her husband’s shirts 
for you to make and mend ?’ ’ 

“ She might, for that matter,” replied the 
widow; “ for she is kept very busy at her draw- 
ing ; but I cannot persuade her to do more than 
let me work for Philip, who should be no charge 
on her hands, you know. She lets me make 
for Philip, but not mend. These things are 
not his.” 

Melea’s look of inquiry asked whose they 
were: to which the widow bashfully replied, 
that Mr. Pye had no one but his washerwoman 
to see after his linen, and so had been persuad- 
ed, as he was very neat and exact, to let an old 


142 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES 


friend go once a week, and look out what want- 
ed mending. She was sure Melea would think 
no harm of this. 

None in the world, Melea said. It was 
pleasant to see old friends pay kind offices to 
one another, — especially two who seemed to be 
left alone to each other’s care, like Mr. Pye 
and Mrs. Parndon. She did not know what 
would become of Mr. Pye without Mrs. Parn- 
don, and she had no doubt he did friendly ser- 
vice in his turn. The widow smiled, and shook 
her head, and observed, that indeed Enoch did 
need somebody to watch over him. He was 
growing very deaf, though, poor man, he did 
not like to allow it; and it was very desirable 
to have some one at his elbow, to set him right 
in his little mistakes, and to give customers and 
strangers a hint to speak up if they wished to 
have their business properly done. 

“ It is a pity you cannot carry your work- 
basket to his counter, these fine mornings, in- 
stead of sitting here for hours all by yourself,” 
observed Melea. I have no doubt, Mr. Pye 
would thank you for your company.” 

Mrs. Parndon had no doubt either; but the 
thing was quite out of the question. It would 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


143 


be highly improper. What would not all Hale- 
ham say, if she began such a practice? 

Melea begged pardon, and went on to ask 
about Hester. She had not been aware that 
Hester had gone on drawing much since she 
married. 

The widow sighed, and observed, that times 
were worse for people in Edgar’s line of em- 
ployment than any one would suppose who saw 
how the farmers were flourishing. The higher 
some people rose, the lower others fell: as she 
had good reason to know; and could, therefore, 
bear testimony that there was now little real 
prosperity, however some might boast. The 
Martins, for instance, were growing rich at a 
mighty rate, and would have laid by quite a lit- 
tle fortune before their lease was out ; while 
she, an economical widow, with what every- 
body once thought a pretty provision for life, 
found her income worth less and less every year, 
just when, for her children’s sake, she should 
like it to be more: and heaven knew she was 
likely to have use enough for it now. Melea 
did not venture to ask the meaning of this, or 
of the heavy sigh which followed. She merely 
inquired whether Edgar did not retain his situ- 


144 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


ation at the Mint. “ O, yes; but salaries were 
nothing now to what they were; and it was ex- 
pensive living in London, even though the young 
people lived in the upper part of Philip’s house, 
for mutual accommodation; that Philip, poor 
Philip, might have a respectable-looking, showy 
shop, and Edgar and his wife have rather less to 
pay than for a floor in a stranger’s house.” 
Melea was very sorry to find that the young 
people had to think so much about economy: 
she had hoped that that would never be neces- 
sary. 

“ Why, Miss Melea, young men have ex- 
penses; and they don’t think so much as their 
wives about suiting them to the times. And so 
the wives, — that is, such wives as my Hester, — 
feel that they should help to fill the purse, if 
they can. So, she says, she was far from being 
hurt when Edgar gave her notice, some months 
ago, that he should wish her to look for employ- 
ment again, of the same sort that she had be- 
fore her marriage. The only thing that hurt 
her was, that it was so long before she could 
get any thing that would pay; for the publishers 
are overrun with artists, they declare. She 
would fain have worked for Mr. Pye, as before; 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


145 


but I would not let her say anything about that ; 
nor Philip either: for people here all have the 
idea of her having made a fine match, (as in- 
deed it is, when one thinks of Edgar,) and it 
would not look well for her to be taking money 
from Mr. Pye, as if she was still Hester Parn- 
don.’- 

“ O, poor Hester!” thought Melea, who 
could scarcely restrain her grief at this series 
of unexpected disclosures. “ With an expen- 
sive husband, a proud brother, a selfish mother, 
you are driven to seek the means of getting 
money, and thwarted in the seeking! O, poor 
Hester!” 

‘‘ She tried at the bazaars,” continued Mrs. 
Parndon; ‘‘ but most of her beautiful drawings 
only got soiled and tossed about, till she was 
obliged to withdraw them; and those that were 
sold went for less by far than her time was 
worth. But now she does not want Mr. Pye’s 
help, nor anybody’s. She has got into high 
favour with a bookseller, who publishes chil- 
dren’s books for holiday presents, full of pic- 
tures. Look! here is the first she did for him; 
(only, you understand, I don’t show it here as 
hers.) This, you see, was a pretty long job, 
VoL. I.— K 


146 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


and a profitable one, she says; and she has so 
much more to do before the Christmas holidays, 
that she is quite light of heart about the filling 
up of her leisure, she tells me. To save her 
time,Iwould have had her send me down her hus- 
band’s making and mending, as I said: but she 
has many candle-light hours, when she sits up 
for Edgar, and cannot draw; and she likes to 
have plenty of needlework to do then, and that 
nobody should sew for her husband but herself” 

Many candle-light hours in June,” thought 
Melea. “ Then, how many will there be of 
candle-light solitude in winter? O poor Hes- 
ter!” 

‘‘ Perhaps her brother spends his evenings 
with her?” she inquired of the widow. 

Why, one can scarcely say that Philip has 
any evenings,” replied Mrs. Parndon. Phil- 
ip was always very steady, you know, and more 
fond of his business than anything else. He 
keeps to it all day, till he is tired, and then goes 
to bed, at nine in winter, and very little later in 
summer. Besides, you know, they don’t pro- 
fess to live together, though they are in the 
same house. Edgar has some high notions, 
and he would soon put an end to the idea that 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


147 


he and his wife have not their apartments to 
themselves. — But, is it not stiange, Miss Me- 
lea, that my son Philip, so uncommonly steady 
as he is, should have got into trouble? Is it not 
odd that he, of all people, should be in danger 
of disgrace?’’ 

Melea did not in her own mind think it at all 
strange, as his stupidity was full as likely to 
lead him into trouble as his steadiness to keep 
him out of it. She waited, however, with a 
face of great concern, to hear what this threat- 
ened disgrace might be. 

“You are the only person, Miss Melea, that 
I have mentioned it to, ever since I heard it yes- 
terday morning, except Mr. Pye, who missed 
me from the feast yesterday, and kindly came to 
hear what was the matter, and spent the whole 
evening with me, till I was really obliged to 
send him away, and pretend to feel more com- 
fortable than I was, to get him to leave me. 
But I dare say people are guessing about it, for 
everybody knew that I meant to be there yester- 
day, and that it must be something sudden that 
prevented me; for Mrs. Crane was here, and 
saw my silk gown laid out ready, before the 
post came in: and they could hardly think 1 


148 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


was ill, the apothecary being there to witness 
that he had not been sent for. But I thought I 
would keep the thing to myself for another post, 
at least, as it may all blow over yet.” 

Melea looked at her watch, and said she now 
understood why Mrs. Parndon seemed disap- 
pointed at seeing her. She had no doubt taken 
her knock for the postman’s. — O dear, no! it 
was scarcely post-time yet; but, though Mr. 
Pye had not exactly said that he should look in 
in the morning, she supposed, when she heard 
the knock, that it might be he ; (she could not get 
him to walk in without knocking;) and she had 
prepared to raise her voice a little to him; and 
she was a little surprised when she found it was 
not he; — that was all. 

But what was the matter? if Melea might 
ask; — if Mrs. Parndon really wished her to 
know. 

Why, Miss Melea nothing more, — Philip 
has done nothing more than many other people 
are doing in these days; but it so happens that 
punishment is to fall upon him more than upon 
others. A little while ago, Edgar introduced a 
young man into Philip’s shop, — (whether he 
was a friend of Edgar’s, Hester does not say)— 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


149 


telling Philip that he would find it worth while 
to be liberal in his dealings with this gentle- 
man; and that they might be of great mutual 
accommodation. Nobody being in the shop, 
the gentleman, upon Philip’s looking willing, 
produced a bag of guineas to sell.” 

“ But selling guineas is unlawful, is it not?” 

“ That is the very cause of all this trouble: 
but they say there is not a goldsmith in all Lon- 
don that does not buy guineas; so that it is very 
hard that one should be picked out for punish- 
ment. Well; they agreed upon their bargain, 
Edgar standing by seeing them weighed, and 
being a witness to the terms. Just before they 
had quite finished, somebody came into the shop, 
and the stranger winked at Philip to sweep the 
guineas out of sight, and whispered that he 
would call again for the Money. It so happen- 
ed that when he did call again, and was putting 
the notes he had just taken into his pocket-book, 
the very same person came in that had inter- 
rupted them before. He pretended to want a 
seal ; but there is no doubt that he is a common 
informer; for it was he who swore the offence 
against Philip.” 


13 ♦ 


150 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


Philip has really been brought to justice, 
then?” 

O dear, Miss Melea! what an expression 
for me to hear used about one of my children! 
Yes; he was brought before the Lord Mayor; 
but he was allowed to be bailed; and Edgar 
will move heaven and earth to get him off; as, 
indeed, he ought to do, he having been the one 
to lead him into the scrape. I am trusting that 
the letter I expect to-day may bring news of 
its having taken some favourable turn.” 

“ If not,” said Melea, you must comfort 
yourself that the case is no worse. Though 
Philip has fairly brought this misfortune upon 
himself by transgressing a law that everybody 
knows, it is a very different thing to all his 
friends from his having incurred punishment for 
bad moral conduct. The offence of buying and 
selling guineas is an offence created for the 
time by the curious state our currency is now 
in. It is not like any act of intemperance, or 
violence, or fraud, which will remain a crime 
long after guineas cease to be bought and sold, 
and was a crime before guineas were ever coin- 
ed.” 

“ That is very much the same thing that Mr. 


HUSBANDS AND WlVTiS. 


151 


Pye said. He tells me not to think of it as 1 
would of coining or forging. Yet they are 
crimes belonging to the currency too, Miss 
Melea!” 

“They are direct frauds; robberies which 
are known by those who perpetrate them to be 
more iniquitous than common robberies, be- 
cause they not only deprive certain persons of 
their property, but shake public confidence, 
which is the necessary safeguard of all proper- 
ty. Buying guineas to make watch-chains of 
the gold puts the government to the expense of 
coining more; and this is a great evil; but 
much blame rests with those who have made 
gold so valuable as to tempt to this sale of coin, 
and then punish the tempted. This sort of of- 
fence and punishment cannot last long.’’ 

“And then my poor son’s error will not be 
remembered against him, I trust. How soon 
do you suppose this state of things will change. 
Miss Melea?” 

“ People say we are to have peace very soon 
indeed; and presently after, the Bank of Eng- 
land is to pay in cash again; and then gold coin 
will cease to be more valuable than it pretends 
to be.” 


152 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


“ So soon as that!” exclaimed Mrs. Parndon, 
laying down her work. 

‘‘Yes. I should not wonder if all tempta- 
Hon to trade in guineas is over within a year.” 

The widow did not look at all pleased to hear 
this, anxious as she had seemed for the time 
when the kind of offence her son had commit- 
ted should be forgotten. 

While she was in a reverie, there was a knock 
at the door. 

“ The postman! the postman!” cried Melea, 
as she ran to open it. 

Though it was not the postman, Mrs. Parn- 
don looked far from being disappointed — for it 
was Mr. Pye. 

“ Why, now, Mr. Pye,” said she; “ if you 
would only have done what I asked you, — come 
in without knocking, — you would not have put 
us in a fluster with thinking you were the post- 
man.” 

Mr. Pye was sorry, looked bashful, but did 
not promise to open the door for himself next 
time. He spoke of the heat, pushed back his 
wig, pulled it on again, but so as to leave his 
best ear uncovered; and then sat, glancing ir- 
resolutely from the one lady to the other, while 


HUSBANDS AND WIVEB. 153 

the widow looked as if waiting to be sympathiz- 
ed with. Finding herself obliged to begin, 
she said, — 

‘‘You may speak before Miss Melea, Mr. 
Pye. She knows the whole; so you need not 
keep your feelings to yourself because she is 
here.” 

This intimation did not put Enoch at his ease; 
while Melea could not help waiting to see what 
would ensue on this permission to indulge sen- 
sibility. 

“ Have you seen Mr. Craig?” askeel Enoch. 

“ I know him to have a message of peace, 
which may support you while waiting for that 
which I hope will come in another way. You 
should hear what a comforter Mr. Craig is!” 

Melea was sure Mr. Craig would come as 
soon as he should know that Mrs. Parndon 
wished to see him. The widow conveyed, how- 
ever, that she had been so piously comforted the 
night before, that she had rather chosen to de- 
pend on a renewal from the same source than to 
send for the clergyman, though, if matters went 
worse instead of better, she should need all the 
supports of friendship and religion. And poor 
Mrs. Parndon ’s tears began to flow. Enoch 


154 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


could never bear to see this. He walked 
about the room, returned to take his old friend’s 
hand, tried to speak, and found that his voice 
would not serve him. Melea began to think 
she had better be going, when the expected let- 
ter arrived. 

Instead of opening it, the widow handed it to 
Mr. Pye, with a sign of request that he would 
read it first. Such a confidence embarrassed far 
more than it flattered poor Enoch, whose scru- 
pulosity had never before been so directly in- 
vaded. He offered the letter beseechingly to 
Melea, who, of course, would not receive it; 
and, at length, finding that the widow’s tears 
went on to flow faster, he took courage to break 
the seal, put on his glasses, and read. A crow 
of delight from him soon told the ladies that the 
news was good. Melea started up; the widow’s 
handkerchief was lowered, and Enoch cast a 
wistful look at her over his spectacles, as if 
wondering whether she was strong enough to 
bear what he had to impart. A sweet, encour- 
aging smile made him redden all over, and has- 
ten to say that Philip was safe, the whole affair 
settled, and Edgar the immediate cause of this 
happy issue. 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


155 


‘‘But how? Did not he buy the guineas, 
after all? Was it not against the law? Or, 
oh! were guineas no longer more valuable than 
paper?” This last question was asked with 
considerable trepidation, and answered by 
Melea’s reading the letter, which was as fol- 
lows: — 

“ My dear Mother, — I am almost sorry I 
wrote to you at all yesterday, as my letter must 
have made you more uneasy than, as it turns 
out, there was occasion for. It struck my hus- 
band, as soon as he had time to think the mat- 
ter over quietly, that there were a good many 
light guineas among those that Philip bought. 
He established the fact so clearly, (having 
them brought from the very drawer that the in- 
former saw them swept into,) that Philip was 
discharged without any more difficulty ; and the 
informer is very ill pleased with the turn the 
affair has taken. You may suppose Philip will 
use particular care henceforth, knowing that he 
has this informer for an enemy; and I am 
afraid the man will be Edgar’s enemy too. But 
it is a great satisfaction, as I hope you will 
feel, that Edgar has got him off; and I hope 
f\ey will both keep clear of any more such dan- 


156 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


gers. It is near post-time; so I will only add 
that we suppose nobody need know, down at 
Haleham, anything about this business, unless 
it should happen to be in the newspapers; and 
then, if they should ask, you may be able to 
make light of it. 

“ Love from Philip, (who is in his shop as if 
nothing had happened,) and from your affec- 
tionate daughter, 

‘‘ Hester MorrisOxN.’’ 

Melea did not understand the case, happy 
as she was at its termination. What made it 
more a crime to sell heavy guineas than light 
ones } 

Enoch informed her that a guinea which 
weighs less than 5 dwts. 8 grs. is not a guinea 
in law. It may pass for twenty-one shillings, 
but the law does not acknowledge that it is 
worth so much. 

“ I wonder how much Edgar got for such an 
one,” said the widow, ‘‘ and how much for the 
heavy ones.^” 

‘‘ The heavy ones sell, under the rose, I un- 
derstand, for a <£1 bank-note, four shillings, and 
sixpence, while those who thus exchange them 
for more than a £1 bank-note and one shilling are 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


157 


liable to fine and imprisonment. But a man 
may sell a light guinea for twenty-four shillings 
and threepence, and nobody will find fault with 
him; — a single half grain of deficiency in the 
weight making the coin nothing better in the 
eye of the law than so much gold metal.’’ 

“ Then a light guinea, unworthy to pass, is 
actually more valuable in a legal way just now 
than a heavy one,” said Melea. How very 
strange! How very absurd it seems!” 

“ Moreover,” observed Enoch, ‘‘ if you melt 
a light guinea, you may get from it 5 dw^ts. 
grs. of bullion. But you must not melt heavy 
guineas, — and each of them will legally ex- 
change for no more than 4dwts., 14 grs. of gold. 
So a light guinea is worth, to a person who keeps 
the law, 17| grs. of gold more than a heavy 
one.” 

“ How could they expect my son to keep 
such law?” sighed the widow, — not for her son, 
but for her own long-standing mistake in con- 
gratulating herself on the good weight of the 
guineas she had hoarded for many months. It 
was a sad blow to find, after all, that they had 
better have been light. She resolved, however, 
under the immediate pain which Philip had 


158 


HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 


caused her, to keep her coin, in hopes that times 
would once more turn round, and that, without 
breaking the law, she might not only get more 
than a note and a shilling for each heavy guinea, 
but more than for one despised by the law. 

Another knock ! It was Henry Craig, — come, 
partly to see whether he could be of service to 
Mrs. Parndon, but much more for the purpose 
of telling Melea that Lewis had arrived, and 
of walking home with her. He at once took 
Melea’s hint not to seem to suppose that any- 
thing was the matter, and to conclude that the 
widow would be interested in the fact and cir- 
cumstances of the young East-Indian’s unlook- 
ed for arrival. It was not many minutes before 
Melea accepted his arm and departed, seeing 
that Mrs. Parndon was growing fidgetty lest 
they should outstay Mr. Pye. 

“Well, Mrs. Parndon, good morning. I 
am glad I came to see you just when I did. I 
shall not forget our conversation.” 

“ Must you go. Miss Melea? and Mr. Craig ? 
Well; I would not think of detaining you, I 
am sure, with such an attraction as Master 
Lewis awaiting you at home. It was truly kind 
of you to stay so long. Pray, Mr. Pye, be so 


SUSPENSE. 


159 


kind as to open the door for Miss Melea My 
respects at home, as usual, you know. Miss 
Melea; and many thanks to you, Mr. Craig, 
for your goodness in calling. Mr. Pye, pray 
nave the kindness to open the door.” 

Mr. Pye, not hearing, stood bowing; and 
Henry Craig was found all-sufficient to open 
the door. The last glimpse Melea had through 
it, was of the widow drawing an arm-chair 
cosily next her own, and patting it with a look 
of invitation to Mr. Pye. As he was not seen 
following them by the time they had reached 
the end of the street, the young folks had no 
doubt that he had surrendered himself prisoner 
for another hour. 


CHAPTER VI. 

SUSPENSE. 

Lewis soon became a more important person 
in the Berkeley family than any member of it 
had anticipated, or than it would have been at 
all good for the boy himself to have known. 


160 


SUSPENSE. 


Anxieties were multiplying; the banking busi- 
ness was in a very doubtful state; and the most 
sagacious practical men could not pretend to fore- 
see what was likely to follow the transition from 
a long and burdensome war to peace. The far- 
mers had begun to complain some time before 
After several unfavourable seasons, during 
which they had been growing rich, their fields 
began to be as productive as they had ever been ; 
and the difficulties in the way of the importa- 
tion of corn were, about the same time, lessened 
by the peace; so that the prices of corn fell so 
rapidly and extensively as to injure the landed 
interest, and cause ruin to some, and a very 
general abatement of confidence. 

The banks, of course, suffered immediately 
by this; and there was too much reason to fear 
that the last days of many were at hand. Bank 
paper was now at its lowest point of deprecia- 
tion the difference between the market-price of 
gold and the legal value of guineas being thirty 
per cent. ; and there was no prospect of a safe 
and quiet restoration of paper to the value of 
gold, by a gradual contraction of its issues on 
the p^art of the Bank of England. If there had 
been no law to prevent its notes passing at their 


SUSPENSE. 


161 


true value in the market, the Bank would have 
been warned by what was daily before its eyes 
to regulate its issues according to the quantity 
of money wanted. When its notes were at a dis- 
count, its issues could have been quietly con- 
tracted; or, on the other hand, cautiously en- 
larged, if its notes should have happened to bear 
a premium. But this had been put out of the 
question some time before by the law which or- 
dained bank notes to bear a fixed value in rela- 
tion to gold; which law was occasioned by the 
just demand of a great landholder to be paid his 
rents in an endepreciated currency. If all other 
parties to a contract had insisted on the same 
thing, inconvertible bank paper would have been 
everywhere refused; therefore the law was 
passed that Bank of England notes must neither 
be refused in payment, nor taken at less than the 
value they professed to bear. This law encour- 
aged the Bank to put out more notes than 
could safely circulate ; and so one evil brought 
on another, — all of which might be traced back 
to the Restriction Act, but whose results it was 
not so easy to anticipate. 

That the Bank and the Government were 

aware of the decrease in the value of their paper, 

VoL. I.— L 


162 


SUSPENSE. 


was evident by their sending it abroad whenever 
a favourable opportunity offered for passing large 
quantities of it in distant places, where it w^as 
not expected that people would be too curious 
about its value. The Irish proved impractica- 
ble. They were too near home, and knew very 
well what ought to be thought of Bank of Eng- 
land paper in comparison with guineas, which 
were openly bought and sold, till the law above 
referred to was extended to that country. The 
Canadians were tried next, bundles of paper- 
money being sent out to pay the army, and 
everybody else with whom Government had to 
do. But, instead of taking them quietly, as 
Englishmen were compelled to do, they consult- 
ed together upon the notes, appraised them, and 
used them in exchange at a discount of thirty 
per cent. This being the case in any part of 
the world, was enough to render any other part 
of the world discontented with bank paper; and 
set the people in England looking about them to 
see how many banks they had, and what was the 
foundation of their credit. There was little 
comfort in the discovery that, while scarcely any 
gold was forthcoming, the number of banks had 
increased, since Bank of England notes had 


SUSPENSE. 


163 


been rendered inconvertible, from about 280 to 
above 700; and that a great many of these were 
watching the fortunes of the farming interest 
with a nervous anxiety which did not tell at all 
well for their own. 

Mr. Berkeley now never missed going to 

D on market days; and the girls found 

themselves more interested than they could once 
have conceived possible in the accounts Henry 
Craig brought them of what was said of the 
state of the times in the farm-houses he visited, 
and by JMr. Martin when he returned from 
making his sales in the county. It appeared 
that there was quite as much speculation abroad 
respecting the stability of the banks as about 

the supply of corn; and the bank at D and 

Mr. Cavendish’s concern did not, of course, es- 
cape remark. 

Mr. Cavendish had, to Horace’s surprise, got 
over his difficulties about the license. He had 
quietly paid the fines, and gone on; being observ- 
ed, however, to undersell more and more, and 
drive his business more quickly and eagerly 
every day; so as to afford grounds of suspicion 
to some wise observers that he was coming to 
an end of his resourses. It was impossible but 


164 


SUSPENSE. 


that he must be carrying on his business at a 
tremendous loss, and that a crash must therefore 
be coming. — Mr. Berkeley’s disapprobation and 
dislike of this man and his doings grew into 
something very like hatred as times became 
darker. He knew that Cavendish’s failure must 

cause a tremendous run on the D bank; 

and these were not days v/hen bankers could 
contemplate a panic with any degree of assur- 
ance. As often as he saw lighters coming and 
going, or stacks of deals being unbuilt, or coals 
carted on Cavendish’s premises, he came home 
gloomy or pettish ; and yet, as Melea sometimes 
ventured to tell him, the case would be still 
worse if there was nothing stirring there. If 
busy, Cavendish must be plunging himself deep- 
er in liabilities; if idle, his resources must be 
failing him: so, as both aspects of his affairs 
must be dismal, the wisest thing was to fret as 
little as possible about either. — These were the 
times when Lewis’s presence was found to be a 
great comfort. His uncle was proud of him, — 
his aunt fond of him; the occupation of teaching 
him was pleasant and useful to his cousins ; and 
there was endless amusement to them all in the 
incidents and conversations which arose from 


SUSPENSE. 


165 


his foreign birth and rearing. None of their 
could at present foresee how much more impor- 
tant a comfort this little lad would soon be. 

Rather late in the autumn of this year, Fanny 
left home for a week to pay a long-promised 
visit to a friend who lived in the country, ten 
miles from Haleham. This promise being ful- 
filled, she and Melea and Lewis were to settle 
down at home for a winter of diligent study, and 
of strenuous exertion to make their own fire-side 
as cheerful as possible to the drooping spirits of 
their father and mother. If they could but get 
over this one winter, all would be well; for Mr. 
Berkeley had laid his plans for withdrawing from 
the bank at Midsummer, preferring a retreat with 
considerable loss to the feverish anxiety under 
which he was at present suffering. His pride 
was much hurt at his grand expectations of his 
banking achievements having come to this; but 
his family, one and all, soothed him with reason- 
ings on the sufficiency of what he expected to have 
remaining, and with assurances that his peace 
of mind was the only matter of concern to them. 
He believed all they said at the time ; but present 
impressions were too much for him when he was 
at business; and whatever might be his mood 


[66 


SUSPENSE. 


when his daughters parted from him at the gate 
in the morning, it was invariably found, when 
he came back to dinner, that he had left his phi- 
losophy somewhere in the road, and was griev- 
ously in want of a fresh supply. Mrs. Berkeley 
already began to count the months till Midsum- 
mer; and Melea’s eyes were full of tears when 
Fanny was mounting her horse for her little 
journey. Melea did not think she could have 
so dreaded one week of her sister’s absence. 

The first day passed pretty comfortably, no 
news having arrived of the stoppage of any bank 
in town or country, and nothing reaching the 
ears of the Berkeleys respecting any transactions 
of the Cavendishes. On the next, Lewis, who 
had been amusing himself with sweeping away 
the dead leaves to make a clear path for his 
uncle up to the house, came running in, broom 
in hand, to announce that Mr. Berkeley was 

coming, full gallop, by the field way from D . 

Before Mrs. Berkeley knew what to make of 
this strange news, her husband burst in, in a state 
of nervous agitation from head to foot. 

“ What is the matter?” cried everybody. 

‘‘ Lewis, go and finish your sweeping,” said 
his uncle, upon which the dismayed boy was 


SUSPENSE. 


167 


withdrawing. — “ Lewis, come back,” was the 
next order, ‘‘ and stay with your aunt all day. 
Have nothing to say to the servants.” 

“ The bank has failed?” said Melea, inqui- 
ringly. 

“No, my dear; but there is a run upon it, 
and to-morrow is market-day. I must be off to 
town instantly; but no one must see the least 
sign of alarm. — Get on your habit, Melea. Your 
horse will be at the door in another minute.” 

“ Mine, father!” 

“Yes. We go out for our ride; — leisurely, 
you know, leisurely, till we are past Cavendish’s, 
and out of sight of the town; and then for a 
gallop after the mail. I think I may overtake 
it.” 

When Melea came down, dressed in a shorter 
time than ever horsewoman was dressed before, 
her mother had stuffed a shirt and night-cap into 
Mr. Berkeley’s pocket, replenished his purse, 
promised to be at D to meet him on his re- 

turn from town in the middle of the next day, 
and summoned a ^mile of hope and a few words 
of comfort with which to dismiss him. 

The groom was ordered to fall back out of 
earshot; and during the tedious half mile that 


168 


SUSPENSE. 


they were obliged to go slowly, Melea learned a 
few particulars. She asked the nature of the 
alarm, and whether the old story of the forg- 
eries had anything to do with it. 

“ Nothing whatever. It is pure accident. 
The most provoking thing in the world! The 
merest accident!” 

People’s minds are in a state to be acted 
upon by trifles,” observed Melea. “ I hope it 
may soon blow over, if it is not a well-founded 
alarm.” 

‘‘No, no. Such a hubbub as I left behind 
me is easy enough to begin, but the devil knows 
where it will end. It was that cursed fool, Mrs. 
Millar, that is the cause of all this.” 

“ What ! Mrs. Millar the confectioner?’ 

“ The same, — the mischievous damned old 

3 J 

The rest was lost between his teeth. Melea 
had never thought Mrs. Millar a fool, or mis- 
chievous, and knew she was not old, and had no 
reason for supposing the remaining word to be 
more applicable than the others. Perceiving, 
however, that they were just coming in sight of 
Cavendish’s premises, she supposed that her 
father’s wrath might bear a relation to them, 


SUSPENSE. 


169 


while he vented it on the harmless Mrs. Millar. 
He went on:— 

“ A. servant boy was sent to Mrs. Miller’s 
for change fora £6 note of our bank; and the 
devil took him there just when the shop was full 
of people, eating their buns and tarts for Tun- 
cheon. The fool behind the counter — ” 

“ And who was that.^” 

“ Why, who should it be but Mrs. Millar? — 
never looked properly at the note, and gave the 
boy a pound’s worth of silver. When he showed 
her that it was a five, she took it up between her 
hands, and with her cursed solemn face said, 
‘ Oh, I cant change that note.’ The boy 
carried home the story; the people in the shop 
looked at one another; and the stupid woman 
went on serving her buns, actually the only 
person that did not find out what a commotion 
she had begun. The bun-eaters all made a 
circuit by our bank in their walk, and one of 
them came in and gave us warning; but it was 
too late. In half an hour, the place was be- 
sieged, and to avoid being observed, I had to 
make my way out through Taylor’s garden at 
the back.” 


J70 


SUSPENSE. 


Poor Mrs. Millar!” said Melea. “I am 
as sorry for her as for anybody.” 

“ O, you never saw any one in such a taking 
— as she deserves to be. She came, without her 
bonnet, into the middle of the crowd, explaining 
and protesting, and all that; with not a soul to 
mind what she said now, though they were ready 
enough to snap up her words an hour before. 
She caught a glimpse of me, when she had made 
her way up the steps, and she actually went 
down on her knees to ask me to forgive her; 
but I swore I never would.” 

O father I” cried Melea, more troubled than 
she had yet been. At the moment, she received 
a signal to look as usual while the Broadhursts’ 
carriage passed, but on no account to stop to 
speak. Whether her father, with his twitching 
countenance, could look as usual, was Melea’s 
doubt. Doubting it himself, he teazed his horse, 
and made it bolt past the carriage on one side, 
while his daughter saluted the Broadhursts on 
the other. 

‘‘Well carried off, child !” he cried. 

“ Take care, Sir. They are looking after 


SUSPENSE. 


171 


“Aye; pronouncing me a wonderful horse- 
man for my years, I dare say; but I must pu 
that matter to the proof a little more before I get 
quietly seated in the mail. — Well; I may be off 
now, I think; and here we part. God bless 
you, my dear ! Thank God we have not met 
Cavendish or any of his tribe ! I should have 
rode over the children, depend upon it. Fare- 
well, my love 

“Not yet,” said Melea, settling herself as if 
for a feat. “ I can gallop as well as you, and I 
must see you into the mail, — for my mother’s 
sake.” 

“You will soon have had enough; and when 
you have, turn without speaking to me. George, 
follow your mistress, and never mind me, or 
where I take it into my head to go. Now for 
it !” 

The gallop lasted till George wondered whether 
master and young mistress were not both out of 
their right minds. At length, the mail was seen 
steadily clearing a long reach of hill before them. 
George was shouted to ride on and stop it; a 
service which he could scarcely guess how he 
was to perform, as it had been all he could do to 
keep up with his charge for the last four miles. 


m 


SUSPENSE. 


The mail disappeared over the ridge before the 
panting horses had toiled half way up the long 
hill; but it was recovered at the top, and at last 
overtaken, and found to have just one place 
vacant inside. Mr. Berkeley made time for 
another word. 

‘‘ I charge you, Melea, to let Fanny know 
nothing of this. Not a syllable, mind, by mes- 
sage or letter, before she comes home. Time 
enough then.” 

Remonstrance was impossible ; but Melea was 
much grieved. She mourned over the prohibition 
all the way home ; but she was particularly glad 
that Henry had not been mentioned. She was 
sure her mother would desire that he should 
come to them, and help them to support one 
another during the inevitable suspense, and the 
misfortunes which might follow. 

When Melea reached home, she found her 

mother preparing to set off for D , where 

(as the run would probably continue for some 
days, requiring the presence of all the part- 
ners) it was her intention to take a lodging, in or- 
der that the few hours of rest which her husband 
would be able to snatch might be more undis- 
turbed than they could be in a friend’s house 


SUSPENSE. 


173 


Melea begged hard that Mrs. Miller might be 
allowed to accommodate them, in sign of for- 
giveness and regard; and as her dwelling was 
conveniently placed with respect to the bank, 
and she was known to have everything comfort- 
able about her, Mrs. Berkeley had no objection 
to make the first application to the grieved and 
penitent cause of all this mischief. 

Melea and Lewis must stay at home. Painful 
as it was to seperate at such a time, the effort 
must be made; for, besides that it was better for 
Mr. Berkeley to have no one with him but his 
wife it was necessary that no difference in the 
proceedings of the family should be perceived 
in Haleham. The house must be seen to be open, 
the family on the spot, and all going on, as nearly 
as possible, in the common way. — The mother 
and daughter did not attempt to flatter each other 
that all would end well. They were both too 
ignorant of the extent of the alarm, as well as of 
the resources of the bank, to pretend to judge. 
They were firm, composed, and thoughtful; but 
self-possession was the best thing they at present 
wished and hoped for. When the silent parting 
kiss had been given, and the sound of wheels 
died away in the dusk, Melea sank down on the 


174 


SUSPENSE. 


sofa, and remained motionless for a time which 
appeared endless to poor Lewis. He stood at 
the window, looking out, long after it was too 
dark to see anything. He wished Melea would 
bid him ring for lights. He was afraid the fire 
was going out, but he did not like to stir it while 
Melea had her eyes fixed upon it. He could 
not steal out of the room for his slate, because 
he had been bidden to stay where he was for the 
rest of the day. When he was too tired and un- 
easy to stand at the window any longer, he crept 
to the hearth-rug, and laid himself down on his 
face at full length. 

Melea started up, stirred the fire into a blaze, 
and sat down beside Lewis, stroking his head, 
and asking him whether he thought he could be 
happy for a few days with only herself to be his 
companion after school hours; and whether he 
could keep the secret of his aunt’s absence, and 
of his uncle’s not coming home to dinner as 
usual. While Lewis was conscientiously mea- 
suring his own discretion, patience, and forti- 
tude, previous to giving his answer, Mr. Craig 
was shown in. 

Henry did not come in consequence of any 
alarm, as Melea saw by the lightness of his step 


SUSPENSE. 


175 


and the gaietj of his manner of entering the 
room. He presently stopped short, however, on 
seeing only two of the family, sitting by firelight, 
at an hour when music and merry voices were 
usually to be heard in the bright, busy room. 

Is any body ill ‘‘What then is the matter.^” 
were questions which led to a full explanation. — 
Henry was very sorry that Fanny could not be 
sent for. He thought the prohibition wrong; 
but, as it existed, there was nothing to be done 
but to obey it. He would, however, do all he 
could to supply Fanny *s place to Melea. After 
a long consultation about matters of minor mo- 
ment, the most ample review of past circum- 
stances*, and the steadiest mutual contemplation 
of what might be in prospect, the friends parted, 
— Henry uncertain whether there was most joy 
or sorrow in his full heart, — (joy in Melea, and 
sorrow for this trial,) — and Melea, relying upon 
the support that his promised visits would afford 
her. She would see him, he had told her, two 
or three times a day while the suspense lasted ; 
and he should not set foot out of Haleham while 
there was a chance of her sending him notice 
that he could be of the slightest service. 


176 


CERTAINTY. 


CHAPTER VII, 

CERTAINTY. 

Mrs. Millar was only too happy in being per- 
mitted to atone, by her most devoted attentions, 
for the evil she had caused by an expression, in- 
advertently dropped and completely misunder- 
stood. Her lodgings happened to be empty; 
but, if they had not been so, she would have 
given up her own sitting-room, and all the ac- 
commodation her house could afford, to secure to 
Mr. Berkeley the repose he would so‘ much 
want, after the fatigues he was undergoing. She 
left the shop to the care of her servants while she 
herself assisted Mrs. Berkeley in the needful 
preparations for Mr. Berkeley’s comfort, on his 
return from his journey; a return which was 
made known by strangers before the anxious 
wife heard of it from himself. 

The streets of D were full of bustle from 

an hour before the bank opened in the morning 
News was brought by customers into Mrs. 


CERTAINTY. 


177 


Millar’s shop of expresses which had been seen 
going and returning, it was supposed, from the 
other banks which must necessarily be expecting 
a run. Everybody had something to tell; — 
what a prodigious quantity of gold and silver 
there was in large wooden bowls on the bank- 
counter; how such .and such carrier had left 
the market early to elbow his way into the bank, 
and demand cash, being afraid to carry home 
notes to his employer; how there was no use in 
going to market without change, as a note 
might travel the whole round of butcher’s stalls 
without finding a hand to take it; how some of 
the folks would receive Bank of England notes, 
and others would be content with nothing short 
of gold. There were many laughs about the ig- 
norance of certain of the country people respect- 
ing the causes and nature of the panic: of the 
young woman who carried Bank of England 

notes to be changed for those of the D bank ; 

of the old woman who was in a hurry to get rid 
of her guineas for notes, because she was told the 
guinea-bank was in danger; and of the market- 
gardener who gladly presented a note of a bank 
which had failed a year before, expecting to get 
cash for it. Later in the day, remarks were 
VoL. I.— M 


178 


CERTAINTY. 


heard on the civility and cheerfulness of the 
young gentleman, the son of one of the partners, 
just arrived from London, it was said, and who 
seemed to understand the thing very well, and 
to be quite easy about everybody having his 
own. With these were coupled criticisms on the 
young gentleman’s father, who was fidgetting 
about, trying to joke with the country people, 
but as cross as could be between times: to which 
somebody answered that he might well be cross 
when an old friend and business connexion, from 
whom he might have expected some considera- 
tion and gratitude, had sent his porter with two 
lOZ. and one 61. note to be cashed. No wonder 
Mr. Berkeley said, loud enough for everybody to 
hear, that Mr. Briggs ought to be ashamed of 
himself: for it was true that he ought. — A new 
comer explained that Mr. Briggs had nothing to 
do with it; and that he had, on learning what a 
liberty his porter had taken with his name, sent 
a note to Mr. Berkeley, explaining that he had 
issued strict orders to all his people, early that 
morning, not to go near the bank the whole day; 
and that the porter was dismissed his service, 
and might obtain employment, if he could, from 
the persons who had no doubt sent him to get 


CERTAINTY. 


179 


change for their notes, because they did not 
choose to appear in the matter themselves. 

From the moment that Mrs. Berkeley heard of 
the arrival of her husband and son, she endeav- 
oured to persuade herself that all would be well, 
and that the great danger was over, since the 
bank did not stop before supplies could be ob- 
tained from town. She sat by the window, and 
counted the hours till six o’clock, the time when 
the bank usually closed. Half-past six came, 
and the street appeared fuller of bustle than 
even in the morning ; a circumstance which she 
could not understand, till Mrs. Millar came up 
to tell her that the bank was kept open an hour 
later than usual. This looked well, and did 
more to compose the anxious wife than all the 
slips of paper she had had from her husband 
during the afternoon, each of which assured her 
that there was no cause for uneasiness. As her 
spirits were thus somewhat raised, it was a 
grievous disappointment to see her husband 
come in with a miserable countenance, and even 
Horace looking more grave than she had ever 
seen him. 

^‘And now, Horace, no more pretence,” 
said Mr. Berkeley when he had sunk down on 


180 


CERTAINTY. 


a sofa, apparently transformed by the events 
of the last twenty-four hours into a feeble old 
man. “We have been hypocritical enough 
all day; now let us look as wretched as we 
are.” 

“Some tea, mother,” said Horace. “My 
father’s hard day’s work is done; but I must go 
back to the bank, ahd possibly to London. 
They keep us terribly short of gold. We must 
get more out of them before noon to-morrow, 
or I do not know what may have become of us 
by this time in the evening.” 

Mrs. Berkeley began to protest against the 
cruelty of stinting the supplies of gold at such 
a time. 

“They cannot help it, mother,” replied 
Horace. “ They are hourly expecting a run 
themselves — ” 

“ A run on the London banks ! Where will 
all this end?” Horace shook his head. He 
then observed, that if they could get through 
the next day, he should be tolerably easy, as it 
was not probable that the mistrust of the people 
would outlast a well-sustained run of two days 
and a half. If they had none but small amounts 
to pay, he should have little fear; — if it was 


CERTAINTY. 


181 


certain that no more rich customers would come 
driving up in carriages to take away their seven 
thousand pounds in a lump. 

Why, who could have done that.^ Mrs. 
Berkeley inquired. 

“ Who !” said her husband. “ Who should 
it be but the sister of that fellow Longe ! There 
he was with her in the carriage grinning and 
kissing his hand when he caught a glimpse of 
me within. It was his doing, I’ll answer for it. 
He would not let pass such an opportunity of 
annoying us.” 

‘‘ The sister is evidently an ignorant person, 
who does not perceive the mischief she is 
doing,” observed Horace “ I should not won- 
der if it strikes her, and she brings her seven 
heavy bags back again to-morrow.” 

“ Then she may carry them away a second 
time,” said Mr. Berkeley. “ I am longing to 
write to tell her, when this bustle is over, that 
we have closed accounts with her for ever.” 

Horace wished they might be justified in 
spurning the seven thousand the next day. 
Nobody would enjoy the rejection more than 
himself, if they could safely make it ; but seven 
16 


182 


CERTAINTY. 


thousand pounds would go a good way in pay- 
ing small demands.” 

‘‘ I suppose your bank is solvent?” timidly 
asked Mrs. Berkeley. ‘‘You are quite sure 
of this, I hope.” 

Before there was time for an answer, the door 
was jerked open; and Mr. Cavendish appeared, 
nursing his white hat, and apologising for the 
rudeness of finding his own way up stairs, 
against the will of Mrs. Millar, who was not 
aware what an intimate friend he was, and how 
impossible it was to him to keep away from the 
Berkeleys at such a time. 

Horace made a rapid sign to his father to 
command himself, and then coolly took a cup of 
tea from his mother, sugaring it with great ex- 
actness, and leaving it to Mr. Cavendish to be- 
gin the conversation. Mr. Berkeley saw the 
necessity of behaving well, and kept quiet also. 

1 hope you enjoy your sofa. Sir,” observed 
Cavendish. “ It must be very acceptable, 
after having been on your legs all day.” 

At another time, Mr. Berkeley might have 
criticised the grammar; but he now vented his 
critical spleen on the accommodations at the 
bank. 


CERTAINTY. 


18 ^ 

“ By the way, Horace,” said he, there’s a 
confounded draught from under those doors. 
One does not mind it in common; and I have 
really forgotten it since last winter, till to-day. 
But the eternal opening and shutting of the out- 
er door caused a perpetual stream of air going 
and returning. It is that which has made my 
ancles ache so to-night.” 

“ And the fatigue, no doubt,” added Caven- 
dish. “You must have had a very busy, — an 
extremely harassing day. Sir.” 

“Very indeed, and,” — yawning, — “as we 
are likely to have just such another to-morrow, 
I must go to bed presently. It is a great com- 
fort, (for which I am obliged to my wife,) that 
I have not to ride as far as you have to-night, or 
to be up particularly early in the morning. We 
shall open an hour earlier than usual, but this 
leaves time enough for sleep, even to lazy folks 
like me.” 

“ An hour earlier ! Indeed ! Well, Sir, I 
hope you will sleep sound, I am sure.” 

“ It will be odd if I do not,” said Mr. Berke- 
yawning again. Mr. Cavendish proceed- 
ed, — , 

“ I trust. Sir, you support yourself pretty 


184 


CERTAINTY. 


well. There is something so harassing in a 
bustle of this nature; so provoking; — so, if I 
may say so, exasperating ! I hope this has no 
effect upon you; — you keep yourself calm, — 
you ” 

“ I, Sir ! Lord bless you, I am as cool as a 
cucumber. ” Seeing an exchange of glances be- 
tween Horace and Mrs. Berkeley, he went on, 
‘‘ There was I behind the counter, you know. 
That was my place.” 

True: so I understood.” 

“ Behind the counter, where I could talk with 
the country people as they came in; and, upon 
my soul, I never heard any thing so amusing. 
To hear what they expected, and how they had 
been bamboozled ! To see what a hurry they 
were in to squeeze their way up to the counter, 
and, after talking a minute or two, and handling 
their gold, how they thought the notes were more 
convenient to carry, after all; and they would 
have them back again, with many apologies for 
the trouble they had given us.” 

‘‘ Ha ! ha ! very good. Apologies indeed ! 
They ought to apologise, I think. And do you, 
really now, open accounts again with them ?” 

“ With such as knew no better, and will 


CERTAINTY. 


185 


know better another time; but not with any who 
ought to keep ten miles off on such a day as 
this^ and come clamouring for their five or seven 
thousand guineas.” 

“ Is it possible.^ You dont say so !” 

I do, though. And they may go and seek 
a beggarly banker who cares more for their 
trumpery bags than we do. We will not blister 
our fingers any more with their cursed gold. 
We will teach them ” 

No more tea, thank you, mother,” said Ho- 
race, rising and buttoning up his coat. “ Mr. 
Cavendish, will you walk.^ I have just to go 
down the street, and it is time we were leaving 
my father to rest himself, which, as you observe, 
he needs.” 

‘‘With pleasure, Mr. Horace; but I have 
first a little matter to speak about, — a little sug- 
gestion to make, — and I am glad, I am sure, 
that you are here to give us the benefit of your 
opinion. It occurs to me, you see, that one 
friend should help another, at a time of need. 
There is no knowing, you perceive, what may 
happen in these extraordinary times to any of 
us, — bankers especially. Even I myself may 


186 


CERTAINTY. 


1 


be in a condition to be glad of the credit of my 
friends.” 

Very probably,” observed Mr. Berkeley. 

Well, then, my dear sir, allow me to make 
use of my credit on your behalf. It will give 
me the greatest pleasure to bring you through.” 

Though Mr. Berkeley looked as if he would 
have devoured him on the spot, Cavendish went 
on pressing his offers of service, of patronage, 
of support, and ended with a pretty broad hint 
that he would take charge of Mr. Berkeley’s 
estate on condition of raising the funds needful 
at present. In the midst of his rage, Mr. 
Berkeley was for a moment disposed to take 
him at his word, for the amusement of seeing 
how Cavendish would contrive to back out of a 
bargain which all parties were equally aware he 
could not fulfil; but having just discretion 
enough to see the mischief which such a joke 
must bring after it, he adopted a different air; 
bowed his haughtiest bow, was very sensible of 
Mr. Cavendish’s motives, would ask for the 
patronage of the Haleham bank when he need- 
ed it, and was, meanwhile, Mr. Cavendish’s 
very humble servant. 

When Horace and the tormenter were gone, 


CERTAINTY 


187 


and Mr Berkeley had vented his spleen against 
the impudent upstart, the coxcomb, the swindler, 
and whatever pretty terms besides he could ap- 
ply to Cavendish, Mrs. Berkeley obtained some 
account of the events of the day, and was glad 
to find that there were instances of generosity 
and delicacy to set against the examples of Mr. 
Longe’s sister and of Cavendish. A merchant 
had appeared at the counter to pay in a large 
sum; and a servant-maid, who had nursed Miss 
Melea, came to the bank in search of her hus- 
band, and carried him off without the change he 
went to seek. These, and a few other heroes 
and heroines, furnished Mr. Berkeley with sub- 
jects for as vehement praise as others of blame ; 
and he retired to his chamber at war with not 
much more than half his race. 

The most urgent messages and incessant per- 
sonal applications failed to procure such a supply 
of gold from the corresponding bank in London 

as would satisfy the partners of the D bank 

of their ability to meet the run, if it should con- 
tinue for some days. It did so continue; relax- 
ing a little on the third day, becoming terrific 
on the fourth, and obliging the partners to hold 
a midnight consultation, whether they should 


188 


CERTAINTY. 


venture to open their doors on the fifth. The 
bank did not this day remain open an hour after 
the usual time: it was cleared almost before the 
clock struck six; and though some of the people 
outside were considerate enough to remember 
that the clerks and partners must all be weary, 
after so many days of unusual toil, and that this 
was reason enough for the early closing of the 
shutters, there were others to shake their heads, 
and fear that the coffers were at length emptied 
of their gold. 

For the first two hours in the morning, the 
partners congratulated themselves on their reso- 
lution to take the chance of another day. The 
tide was turned: people were ashamed of their 
panic, and gold flowed in. A note to say this 
was sent to Mrs. Berkeley, who immediately be- 
gan her preparations for returning home before 
night. The messenger who went to and fro be- 
tween D and Haleham, was charged with 

good news for Melea; and all seemed happy 
again, when the fearful tidings arrived that the 
corresponding banking-house in London was ex- 
posed to a tremendous run, and required all the 
assistance it could obtain, instead of being in 
any condition to send further funds to its country 
correspondent. 


CERTAINTY. 


189 


All attempts to keep this intelligence secret 

were vain. Within an hour, everybody in D 

had heard it, and it was impossible to obviate 
the effects of the renewed panic. The partners 
did not defer the evil moment till their coffers 
were completely emptied. As soon as the tide 
had once more turned, and gold began to flow 
out a second time, they closed their bank, and 
issued a notice of their having stopped payment. 

Horace was the main support of his family at 
this crisis. When he had communicated the in- 
telligence to his mother, silenced the lamenta- 
tions of the miserable Mrs. Millar and brought 
his father home to his lodging after dusk, he 
went over to Haleham for an hour or two, to 
give such poor satisfaction to his sisters as might 
be derived from full and correct intelligence. 
Fanny had not yet returned; and as she was not 
there, with her matured and calm mind, and 
greater experience of life, to support her young 
sister under this blow, Horace could scarcely 
bring himself to communicate to his little Melea 
tidings so completely the reverse of those which 
she evidently expected. Though many years 
younger, Melea was not, however, a whit behind 
her sister in strength of mind. She also under- 


190 


CERTAINTY. 


stood more of the nature of the case than her 
brother had supposed possible; so that she was 
capable of as much consolation as could arise 
from a full explanation of the state and pros- 
pects of the concern, and of the family fortunes 
as connected with it. 

Melea would have enquired into all these cir- 
cumstances if only for the sake of the relief 
which it appeared to afford to Horace to fix his 
attention upon them; but she was also anxious 
to qualify herself to satisfy Fanny in every par- 
ticular, on her return the next day: for her 
brother brought a message from Mrs. Berkeley, 
requesting that Melea would not think of joining 

her parents at D , but would stay to receive 

Fanny, and to prepare for the return of the rest 
of the family, whenever Mr. Berkeley might 
feel himself justified in seeking the retirement 
of his own house. 

“ Is there anything else that I can do?” asked 
Melea. Any letters to write, — any invento- 
ries to make out?” she continued, casting a 
glance round her at the bookshelves, the piano, 
and the Titian which had long been her father’s 
pride. “ Anything which can best be done be- 
fore my mother comes home?” 


CERTAINTY. 


191 


“ If you think, dear, that you can write let- 
ters without too much effort, it would be very 
well that three or four should be dispatched be- 
fore my mother returns. There is no occasion 
for anything more, at present. Be careful, Me- 
lea, about making too much effort. That is the 
only thing I fear for you. Remember that you 
must reserve your strength for our poor father’s 
support. He will need all you can afford him; 
and we must expect even my mother to give 
way when he no longer depends wholly on her. 
Do not exhaust yourself at once, dearest.” 

Melea could not realize the idea of her being 
exhausted, though she made no protestations 
about it. She supposed that there might be 
something much worse in such a trial than she 
could at present foresee, and she therefore re- 
frained from any talk of courage, even to her- 
self; but, at present, she did not feel that she 
had anything to bear, so insignificant did her 
relation to the event appear in comparison with 
that which was borne by her parents and broth- 
er. She was full of dread on her father’s ac- 
count, of respectful sorrow for her mother^, and 
of heart-wringing grief for her manly, honour- 
able brother, to whom reputation was precious 


192 


CERTAINTY. 


above all things, and who was just setting out 
in life with confident hopes of whatever might 
be achieved by exertion and integrity. For 
Horace she felt most; for Fanny and herself 
least: for Fanny, because she was another self 
in her views of life, in capacity for exertion, 
and in preparation for that reverse of fortune 
with which they had occasionally been threat- 
ened from the days of their childhood. 

Can I do nothing for you, Horace?” asked 
Melea. While we are all looking to you, we 
should like to think we could help you. Is 
there nothing to be done?” 

‘‘ Nothing, thank you. Whatever responsi- 
bility rests upon me cannot be shared. Only 
make me the bearer of some message to my 
mother, and of any little thing you can think of to 
show her that you are calm and thoughtful. Such 
a proof will be better than anything I can say.” 

I am going to write while you eat these 
grapes,” said Melea, who had observed that her 
brother was teazed with thirst. While Horace 
ate his grapes, and made memoranda, Melea 
wrote to her mother. 

“ Dearest Mother, — The news which Horace 
has brought grieves me very much. My great 


CERTAINTY. 


193 


trouble is that I am afraid Fanny and I know too 
little at present what will be the extent of such a 
trial to feel for my father and you as we ought. 
We are aware, however, that it must be very 
great and long-continued to one who, like my 
father, has toiled through a life-time to obtain 
the very reverse of the lot which is now appoint- 
ed to him. There is no dishonour, however, 
and that, I think, is the only calamity which 
we should find it very difficult to bear. Your 
children will feel it no misfortune to be impelled 
to the new and more responsible kind of exertion 
of which their father has kindly given them fre- 
quent warning, and for which you have so di- 
rected their education as to prepare them. Fan- 
ny and I are too well convinced that the great- 
est happiness is to be found in strenuous exer- 
tion on a lofty principle, to repine at any event 
which makes such exertion necessary, or to 
dread the discipline which must, I suppose, ac- 
company it. I speak for Fanny in her absence 
as for myself, because I have learned from her 
to feel as I do, and am sure that I may answer 
for her; and I have written so much about our- 
selves, because I believe my father in what he 
has so often said, — that it is for our sakes tlat 


194 


CERTAINTY. 


he is anxious about his worldly concerns. I as^ 
sure you we shall be anxious only for him and 
you and Horace. Horace, however, can never 
be long depressed by circumstances; nor do I 
think that any of us can. I mean to say this in 
the spirit of faith, not of presumption. If it is 
presumption, it will certainly be humbled: if it 
is faith, it will, I trust, be justified. In either 
case, welcome the test ! 

I expect Fanny home by the middle of the 
day to-morrow; and I hope we shall see you in 
the evening, or the next day at farthest. My 
father may rely on perfect freedom from dis- 
turbance. I shall provide that nobody shall 
come farther than the white gate, unless he 
wishes it. I send you some grapes, and my 
father’s cloth shoes, which I think he must 
want if he has to sit still much at his writing. 
I shall send you more fruit to-morrow; and the 
messenger will wait for any directions you may 
have to give, and for the line which I am sure 
you will write, if you should not be coming 
home in the evening. 

“ Lewis, who has been a very good and pleas- 
ant companion, sends his love, and his sorrow 
that anything has arisen to make you unhappy 


CERTAINTY. 


195 


‘‘ Farewell, my dear father and mother. 
May God support you, and bring blessings out 
of the misfortune with which He has seen fit to 
visit you ! With His permission, your children 
shall make you happy yet. — Your dutiful and 
affectionate daughter, 

“ Melea Berkeley. 

‘‘ P. S. — No one has been so anxious about 
you as Henry Craig. If he thought it would 
be any comfort to you to see him, he would go 

over to D on the instant. He said so when 

we were only in fear. I am sure he will now 
be more earnest still. As soon as Horace is 
gone, I shall write, as he desires, to Reading, 
and Manchester, and Richmond. If there are 
any more, let me know to-morrow. I hope you 
will not exert yourself to write to anybody at 
present, except Fanny or me.’’ 

When Fanny turned her face homewards the 
next morning, ignorant (as it grieved her sister 
to think) of all that had happened during the 
week, she was charged by the friends she was 
leaving with two or three commissions, which 
she was to execute on her way home through 
Haleham, in order that the servant who attend- 
ed her might carry back her purchases. She. 


196 


CERTAINTY. 


accordingly alighted from her horse at the en- 
trance of the town, in order to walk to some 
shops. The first person she met was Mr. 
Longe, walking arm-in-arm with a young man, 
whom she did not know. She saw a significant 
sign and whisper pass between them, such as 
she had observed on sundry occasions of meet- 
ing the rector since her rejection of him; hut 
she was not the less taken by surprise with the 
rudeness which followed. Of the two gentle- 
men, one — the stranger — took up his glass to 
stare, the other gave no sign of recognition but 
a laugh in her face; and both resolutely turned 
her off the narrow pavement, — looking back, 
as the servant declared, as if to find out what 
she thought of the manoeuvre. She thought 
nothing but that it was very contemptible, till 
she saw Henry Craig coming towards her in 
great haste, and beckoning as she was about to 
enter the shop. 

‘ ^ Let me help you upon your horse, Miss 
Berkeley,” said he, much out of breath from 
haste or some other cause. 

‘ ‘ Thank you ; but I must go to a shop first. 
Have you seen my family this morning? And 
how are they all?” 


CERTAINTY. 197 

Henry answered that they were all well; that 
ue was going there v/ith her now; and that he 
wished she would dismiss the groom, with the 
horses, and walk with him by the field way. 
Fanny was about to object, but she saw that 
Henry was earnest, and knew that he was never 
so without cause. She let him give such or- 
ders to the servant as he thought fit, draw her 
arm within his own, and turn towards the field- 
path. When she looked up in his face, as if 
wishing him to speak, she saw that he was pale 
and agitated. She stopped, asking him so firm- 
ly what was the matter, that he gave over all 
idea of breaking the intelligence gradually. 

‘‘It is said,” he replied, — “but I do not 
know that it is true, — it is said that there is some 
derangement in your father’s affairs, — that the 

D bank has stopped payment.*’ 

“You do not know that it is true?” 

“ Not to this extent. I know that there has 
been some doubt, — that there have been diffi- 
culties during the la^t week; but of the event 
I have no certain knowledge. Alarm yourself 
as little as you can.” 

“ I have no doubt it is true.” replied Fanny 
“ Such an event is no new idea to us. I have 


198 


CERTAINTY. 


no doubt it is true.” And they walked on in 
silence. 

“ One thing, Henry, I must say before I 
know more,” continued Fanny, after a long 
pause. “ Let what will have happened, I am 
certain that the honour of my father and broth- 
er will come out clear. If it were not for this 
confidence in them ” 

“ And I,” said Mr. Craig, “ am equally cer- 
tain that there will be but one opinion among 
all who have ever known you; — that no family 
could have less deserved such a reverse, or 
could be more fitted to bear it well. No fami- 
ly ” 

He could not go on. When he next spoke, 
it was to tell her that her parents were absent, 
and to give her a brief account of the events 
of the week, as far as he knew them; that is, 
up to the previous afternoon. 

‘‘You have not seen Melea or Lewis to-day, 
then? Not since they heard the news?” 

“No. I left Melea cheered, — indeed re- 
lieved from all anxiety, yesterday afternoon, 
and did not hear till this morning the report of 
a reverse. I have not ventured to go, knowing 
that she would probably be fully occupied, and 


CERTAINTY. 


199 


that you would be with her early to-day. I did 
walk up as far as the gate ; but I thought I had 
better meet you, and prevent your going where 
you might hear it accidentally. I sent in a 
note to Melea, to tell her that I should do so.” 

‘‘ Come in with me,” said Fanny, when they 
had reached the gate, “ you know you will be 
wretched till you have heard what the truth is. 
You must come in and be satisfied, and then 
you can go away directly.” 

Melea heard their steps on the gravel, and 
appeared at the parlour-door when they entered 
the hall. She looked with some uncertainty 
from the one to the other, when the sisterly 
embrace was over. 

‘‘Now, love, tell me how much is true,” 
said Fanny. “We know there is something. 
Tell us what is the matter!” 

“Nothing that will take you by surprise. 
Nothing that will make you so unhappy as we 
used to imagine we must be in such a case. In- 
deed, we could not have imagined how much 
hope, how many alleviations there would be 
already. I have had such a letter from my mo- 
ther this morning! Very few will suffer, she 
hopes, but those who are best able to lose; and 


200 CERTAINTY. 

even they only for a short time. They have 
great hopes that every thing will be paid. And 
such generosity and consideration they have 
met with! And every body seems to honour 
Horace I had no idea he could have been so 
appreciated.’’ 

“ And when may we be all together again 

“ My father cannot come home for two or 
three days yet ; and my mother thinks it will be 
better to reserve our society for him till he set- 
tles down here. Indeed he is too busy to be 
much even with her.” 

I wonder what we ought to do next,” saiQ 
Fanny. 

“I will tell you,” replied Melea, ‘‘all I 
know about the affairs, and then you will be 
better able to judge. Nay, Henry, stay and 
listen. If all this was a secret, I should not 
have known it. You must not go till you have 
heard from us what any body in Haleham could 
tell you before night.” 

And she gave a brief and clear account of 
the general aspect of the affairs, as viewed bj 
Horace. It was certainly very encouraging as 
to the prospect of every creditor being ultimate- 
ly paid. 


CERTAIJNTy. 


201 


“ If that can but be accomplished!” said 
Fanny. “ Melea, now the time is come 

that we have talked of so often. Now is the 
time for you and me to try to achieve a truer 
independence than that we have lost. I have a 
strong confidence, Melea, that energy, with 
such other qualifications as our parents have 
secured to us, will always find scope, and the 
kind of reward that we must now seek. We 
will try.” 

Henry Craig started up, feeling that he was 
more likely to need comfort than to give it. 
He bestowed his blessing, and hurried away. 

There was little for the sisters to do previous 
to Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley’s return. Melea 
had already taken measures to prevent a situa- 
tion as governess — in which she believed her 
services would be acceptable, and which offer- 
ed many advantages — from being filled up: 
though without mentioning the name, or com- 
mitting herself till she should have consulted 
her family. She had been at a loss about what 
to say to the servants, one of whom seemed, 
through her long service, to be entitled to con 
fidence, while the others could not, she thought, 
be trusted to behave well upon it. Fanny had 


202 


CERTAINTY. 


no doubt that they knew all by this time; not 
only from the affair being generally talked of 
in the town, but through the messenger wno 
had brought Mr. Berkeley’s letter. It proved 
not to be so, however. The servant who had 

been to D had had no heart to tell the tidings ; 

and the astonishment of the domestics was as 
complete as their dismay, when they were at 
length made to understand the fact. Melea 
blamed herself for injustice to some of them 
when she found neither threats nor murmurs, 
nor even questionings about what was to be- 
come of them. 

The next day was Sunday; anything but a 
day of rest to those of the Berkeleys who re- 
mained at D . Of the Haleham people, 

some were touched, and others (especially the 
Cavendishes) were shocked to see Fanny and 
Melea at church, and filling their places in the 
Sunday-school as usual. While, in the eyes 
of some people, it was unfeeling, unnatural, 
altogether too like defiance, the young ladies 
did not perceive why their own anxieties should 
make them neglect an office of benevolence, or 
exclude them from those privileges @f worship 
which they needed more instead of less than usual 


MARKET-DAY. 


205 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MARKET-DAY. 

The Cavendishes^ were not long at leisure to 
wonder at the Berkeleys. It would have been 
wiser to prepare to imitate them. But Mr. Ca- 
vendish, who had no hope of long maintaining 
an apparent superiority over them, determined 
not to sink so quietly and simply as they had 
done, but to cause a sensation before his catas- 
trophe, as well as by means of it, and thus to 
finish with a kind of eclat. 

The introduction of foreign corn on the con- 
clusion of the war had been for some little time 
hastening his ruin; and, knowing that it must 
be accomplished by the shock given to commer- 
cial credit, through the stoppage of the D 

bank, he thought he would forestall the conclu- 
sion, and, by attributing his failure to an acci- 
dent, keep as much as he could of his little re- 
maining credit. 

Wednesday being the market-day, no time 
was to be lost. On Tuesday, therefore, (a 
clerk having been opportunely got rid of,) 


204 


MARKET-DAY. 


all Haleham was thrown into consternation by 
he news of an embezzlement to an unheard-of 
extent, which had been perpetrated by the de- 
parted clerk. Bills were presently in every 
window, and on all the walls. Mrs. Cavendish 
was understood to be in hysterics, Mr. Longe 
gone in pursuit of the knave, the children run- 
ning wild, while the governess w^as telling the 
story to everybody; and Mr. Cavendish talking 
about justice, and hanging the fellow; and 
everything but the facts of the case; — for he 
could not be brought to give any such informa- 
tion respecting the nature of the embezzled 
property, as could enable the magistrates to 
help him to recover it. Mr. Berkeley and 
Horace, hearing the news on their return to 
Haleham on the Tuesday night, pronounced 
it too coarse a device, — one which would 
deceive nobody ; and prophesied that not 
only would the bank be shut as soon as the 
market opened in the snorning, but that nothing 
whatever would remain to pay any creditor. 

It seemed as if Enoch Pye was, for once, as 
shrewd as many a fonder lover of lucre ; or per- 
haps it was the union of Mrs. Parndon’s world- 
ly wisdom with his own which caused him to be 


MARKET-DAY. 


205 


on the alert this Wednesday morning. Before 
the bank opened he was lingering about the 
street, and was the first to enter the doors to 
present a check for thirteen pounds, which he 
desired to have in gold, troubling himself to 
assign various reasons for coming so early, and 
wishing for gold. Almost before the clerk had 
told over the sum on the counter, a voice which 
Enoch did not find it convenient to hear, shout- 
ed from behind him, ‘‘ Stop, there, stop! Make 
no payments. The bank has stopped. Make 
no payments, I say!” 

The clerk snatched at the gold, but Enoch 
was too expert for him. He had crossed his 
arms over the money at the first alarm, and 
now swept it into his hat, which he held be- 
tween his knees, looking all the time in the 
clerk’s face, with, 

“Eh? What? What does he say ? I won’t 
detain you any longer. Good day, sir.” 

“I’ll detain you, though,” muttered the 
clerk, swinging himself over the counter, and 
making for the door. Enoch brushed out of it, 
however, turning his wig half round by the 
way. Cavendish, coming up, caught at the 
skirt of his coat, but Enoch could now spare a 


206 


MARKET-DAY. 


hand to twitch it away. He ran on, (the schooh 
boys whom he met supposing him suddenly gone 
mad, to be hugging his hat while his wig cover- 
ed only half his head,) and never stopped till he 
stood panting in Mrs. Parndon’s presence. 
The only thought he had had time for all the way 
was, that the widow would, he really believed, 
marry him within the hour for such a feat as 
this, if he had but the license ready, and could 
summon courage to ask her. Enoch was far 
too modest to perceive what everybody else saw, 
that the widow was quite ready to have him at 
any hour. He was much gratified at present 
by her soothing cares. She set his wig straight, 
examined the flap which had been in danger, to 
see if it had lost a button or wanted a stitch; 
shook and turned out the lining of his hat, lest 
a stray coin should be hidden, and setting her 
hot muffin and a fresh cup of tea before him, 
tried to tempt him to a second breakfast. It 
was not to be expected, however, that he could 
stay while such news was abroad: he had come, 
partly by instinct, and partly to be praised for 
his feat; and now he must go and bear his 
share of the excitements of the day. The 
widow persuaded him to wait two minutes, 


MARKET-DAY. 


•207 


while she swallowed her cup of tea and threw 
on her shawl, leaving the muffin, — not as a 
treat to her cat or her little maid, — but to be set 
by and warmed up again for her tea, as she 
found time to direct before she took Mr. Pye’s 
arm, and hastened with him down the street as 
fast as his ill-recovered breath would allow. 

The excitement was indeed dreadful. If an 
earthquake had opened a chasm in the centre 
of the town, the consternation of the people 
could scarcely have been greater. It was folly 
to talk of holding a market, for not one buyer 
in twenty had any money but Cavendi.sh’s notes; 
and unless that one happened to have coin, he 
could achieve no purchase. The indignant peo- 
ple spurned bank-paper of every kind, even 
Bank of England notes. They trampled it 
under foot; they spat upon it; and some were 
foolish enough to tear it in pieces; thus de- 
stroying their only chance of recovering any of 
their property. Mr. Pye, and a few other 
respected townsmen, went among them, ex- 
plaining that it would be wuse at least to take 
care of the “ promise to pay,” whether that 
promise should be ultimately fulfilled or not; 
and that it would be fulfilled by the Bank of 


^08 


MARKET-DAY. 


England and many other banks, he had not the 
smallest doubt, miserably as the Haleham bank 
had failed in its engagements. 

The depth of woe which was involved in this 
last truth could not be conceived but by those 
who witnessed the outward signs of it. The 
bitter weeping of the country women, who pre- 
pared to go home penniless to tell their hus- 
bands that the savings of years were swept 
away; the sullen gloom of the shop-keepers, 
leaning with folded arms against their door- 
posts, and only too sure of having no customers 
for some time to come: the wrath of farmer 
Martin, who was pushing his way to take his 
daughter Rhoda from out of the house of the 
swindler who had plundered her of her legacy 
and her wages in return for her faithful service ; 
and the mute despair of Rhoda’s lover, all of 
whose bright hopes were blasted in an hour; — 
his place gone, his earnings lost, and his mis- 
tress and himself both impoverished on the eve 
of their marriage: the desperation of the honest 
labourers of the neighbourhood on finding that 
the rent they had prepared, and the little pro- 
vision for the purchase of winter food and 
clothing, had all vanished as in a clap of thuii- 


MARKET-DAY. 


209 


der; the merrment of the parish paupers at 
being out of the scrape, and for the time better 
off than better men ; — all these things were 
dreadful to hear and see. Even Mrs. Parndon’s 
curiosity could not keep her long abroad in the 
presence of such misery. She went home, 
heart sick, to wonder and weep; while she told 
the sad tale to her daughter in a letter of twice 
the usual length. Enoch Pye retired behind 
his counter, and actually forgot to examine his 
stock of bank notes till he had paid his tribute 
of sorrow to the troubles of those who were 
less able than himself to bear pecuniary losses. 
Henry Craig was found wherever he was most 
wanted. He had little to give but advice and 
sympathy; but he had reason to hope that he 
did some good in calming the people’s minds, 
and in showing them how they might accommo- 
date and help one another. Under his encour- 
agement, a limited traffic went on in the way 
of barter, which relieved a few of the most 
pressing wants of those who had entered the 
market as purchasers. The butcher and gar- 
dener did get rid of some of their perishable 
stock by such an exchange of commodities as 
enabled tho parents of large families to carry 


210 


MARKET-DAY. 


home meat and potatoes for their children’s 
dinners. Seldom has traffic been conducted so 
languidly or so pettishly; and seldom have 
trifling bargains been concluded amidst so many 
tears. 

Cavendish found the affair even worse than 
he had anticipated. The confusion within doors 
actually terrified him when he took refuge 
there from the tumult without. His wife’s 
hysterics were as vigorous as ever. Miss Egg 
had packed up her things and departed by the 
early coach, in high dudgeon with her dear 
friends for owing her a year’s salary, and hav- 
ing, as she began to suspect, flattered her of 
late with false hopes of her winning Mr. Longe, 
in order to protract their debt to her, and fur- 
nish their children with a governess on cheap 
terms. Farmer Martin had carried off Rhoda, 
allowing her no further option than to take with 
her the poor little baby, whom there was no one 
else to take care of. The other servants had 
immediately departed, helping themselves pret- 
ty freely with whatever they hoped would not 
be missed, telling themselves and one another 
that these were the only particles of things in 
the £^hape of wages that they should ever see. 


MARKET-DAY. 


211 


Finding his house in this forlorn and deserted 
state, with no better garrison than a screaming 
wife and frightened children, while he was in 
full expectation of a siege by an enraged mob, 
the hero of this varied scene took the gallant 
resolution of making his escape while he could 
do it quietly. He looked out an old black hat, 
and left his white one behind him; buttoned up 
some real money which he found in his wife’s 
desk; threw on a cloak which concealed his 
tight ancles, and sneaked on board one of his 
own lighters, bribing the only man who was 
left on the premises to tow him down the river 
for a few miles, and tell nobody in what direc- 
tion he was gone. 

Among the many hundreds whom he left be- 
hind to curse his name and his transactions, 
there were some who also cursed the system 
under which he had been able to perpetrate 
such extensive mischief. Some reprobated the 
entire invention of a paper currency ; in which 
reprobation they were not, nor ever will be, 
joined by any who perceive with what economy, 
ease, and dispatch the commercial transactions 
of ^a country may be carried on by such a me- 
dium of exchange. Neither would any degree 


212 


MARKET-DAY. 


of reprobation avail to banish such a currency 
while convenience perpetually prompts to its 
adoption.- Others ascribed the whole disaster 
to the use of small notes, urging that, prior to 
1797, while no notes of a lower denomination 
than 5Z. were issued, a run on a bank was a 
thing almost unheard of. Others, who esteem- 
ed small notes a convenience not to be dispens- 
ed with, complained of the example of incon- 
vertibility set by the Bank of England; and 
msisted that methods of ensuring convertibility 
must exist, and would be all-sufficient for the 
security of property. Some objected to this, 
that mere convertibility was not enough without 
limitation; because though convertibility en- 
sures the ultimate balance of the currency, — 
provides that it shall right itself from time to 
time, — it does not prevent the intermediate fluc- 
tuations which arise from the public not being 
immediately aware of the occasional abundance 
or dearth of money in the market. Notes usu- 
ally circulate long before the holders wish for 
the gold they represent: so that fraudulent or 
careless issuers of convertible paper may have 
greatly exceeded safety in their issues before 
the public has warning to make its demand for 


MARKET-DAY. 


213 


gold; and thus the security of convertibility 
may be rendered merely nominal, unless ac- 
companied by limitation. Others had a theory, 
that runs on banks were themselves the evil, 
and not merely the indications of evil; that all 
would be right if these could be obviated, and 
that they might be obviated in the provinces 
by the country bankers making their notes pay- 
able in London only. These reasoners did not 
perceive how much the value of notes, as 
money, would be depreciated by their being 
made payable at various and inconvenient dis- 
tances; so that there would soon be as many 
different values in notes of the same denomina- 
tion as there are different distances between 
the principal country towns and London. All 
agreed that there must be something essen- 
tially wrong in the then present system, under 
which a great number of towns and villages 
were suffering as severely as Haleham. 

The tidings of distress which every day 
brought were indeed terrific. The number of 
banks which failed went on increasing, appar- 
ently in proportion to the lessening number of 
those which remained, till every one began to 
ask where the mischief would stop, and wheth- 


214 


MARKET-DAY. 


er any currency would be left in the country. 
Before the commercial tumult of that awful 
time ceased, ninety-two country banks became 
bankrupt, and a much greater number stopped 
payment for a longer or shorter period. 

In proportion to the advantage to the moral 
and worldly condition of the working classes 
of having a secure place of deposit where 
their savings might gather interest, was the 
injury then resulting from the disappointment 
of their confidence. Savings-banks now exist 
to obviate all excuse for improvidence on the 
plea pf the difficulty of finding a secure method 
of investment, or place of deposit: but at the 
period when this crash took place, savings- 
banks were not established; and then was the 
time for the idle and wasteful to mock at the 
provident for having bestowed his labour and 
care in vain, and for too many of the latter 
class to give up as hopeless the attempt to im- 
prove their condition, since they found that 
their confidence had been abused, and their 
interests betrayed. There were not so great a 
number of working-people who suffered by the 
forfeiture of their deposits as by holding the 
notes of the unsound banks, because few banks 


MARKET-DAY. 


215 


received very small deposits; but such as there 
were belonged to the meritorious class who had 
been cheated in Haleham by Cavendish. They 
were the Chapmans, the Rhodas, — the indus- 
trious and thrifty, who ought to have been the 
most scrupulously dealt with, but whose little 
store was the very means of exposing them to 
the rapacity of sharpers, and of needy traders 
in capital whose credit was tottering. 

After the pause which one day succeeded 
the relation of some melancholy news brought 
by Mr. Craig to the Berkeleys, Melea wonder- 
ed whether other countries ever suffered from 
the state of their currency as England was nov/ 
suffering, or whether foreign governments had 
long ago learned wisdom from our mistakes. 

Her father replied by telling her that the 
Bank of Copenhagen had been privileged, 
before the middle of the last century, to issue 
inconvertible paper money; that the king, wish- 
ing to monopolize the advantage of making 
money so easily, had some years afterwards 
taken the concern into his own hands; and that, 
at the present moment, his people were wishing 
him joy of his undertaking, a dollar in silver 
being worth just sixteen dollars in paper. 


216 


MARKET-DAY. 


‘‘ How very strange it seems,” observed Me- 
lea, ‘‘that none of these governments appear 
to see that the value of all money depends on 
its proportion to commodities; and the value of 
gold and paper money on their proportion to 
each other!” 

“ Catherine of Russia seems to have had 
some idea of it,” observed Mr. Berkeley, “ for 
she was very moderate in her paper issues for 
some time after she gave her subjects that kind 
of currency: but at this time, the same denomi- 
nation of money is worth four times as much in 
metals as in paper. Maria Theresa went wrong 
from the first. Presently after she introduced 
paper money into Austria, a silver florin was 
worth thirteen florins in paper. All the subse- 
quent attempts of that government to mend the 
matter have failed. It has called in the old pa- 
cer, and put out fresh; yet the proportionate 
value of the two kinds of currency is now 
eight to one. But the most incredible thing is 
that any government should institute a repre- 
sentative currency which, in fact, represents 
nothing.” 

“Represents nothing! How is that possi- 
ble?” 


MARKET-DAY. 217 

‘‘ Ask your mother to tdll you thd history of 
the Assignats. I know it is painful to her to 
recur to that terrible time; but she will think, as 
I do, that you ought to be aware what were the 
consequences of the most extraordinary Curren- 
cy the world ever saw.” 

Mr. Craig could now account for Mrs. Berke- 
ley’s gravity whenever the subject of a vicious 
currency was touched upon in the remotest man- 
ner. He supposed she had suffered from family 
misfortunes at the time when all France was 
plunged into poverty by the explosion of the as- 
signat system. 

“ How cotild a representative currency actu- 
ally represent nothing?” inquired Melea again. 

‘‘ The assignats were declared legal money,” 
replied Mrs. Berkeley, “buf there was nothing 
specified which they could represent. Their 
form was notes bearing the inscription ‘National 
Property Assignat of 100 fraiics.’ The ques- 
tion was first, what was meant by national pro- 
perty ; and next, what determined the value of 
100 francs.” 

“ And what was this national property ? * 

“ in this case, it meant the confiscated estates 
which had fallen into the hands of the gov em- 
inent, and were sold by auction; and the reastyli 


218 


MARKET-DAY. 


why this new kind of money was issued was be- 
cause the revolutionary government, however 
rich in confiscated estates, was much in want of 
money, and thought this might be a good way of 
converting the one into the other. You see, 
however, that whethef these slips of paper would 
bear the value of 100 francs, depended on the 
proportion of the assignats to the purchasable 
property, and of both to the existing currency, 
and to the quantity of other commodities.” 

“ And, probably, the government, like many 
other governments, altered this proportion con- 
tinually by new issues of paper money, while 
there was no corresponding increase of the pro- 
perty it represented?” 

“ Just so. More estates were confiscated, but 
the assignats multiplied at a tenfold rate ; driving 
better money out of the market, but still super- 
abounding. Prices rose enormously; and in 
proportion as they rose, people grew extrava- 
gant.” 

“ That seems an odd consequence of high 
prices.” 

“ If prices had been high from a scarcity of 
^commodities, people would have grown econo- 
mical , but the rise of price was in this case only 
a symptom of the depreciation of money. Every 


MARKET-DAY. 


219 


Give, .iOiiig afraid that it would fall still lower, was 
anxious to spend it while it remained worth any- 
thing. I well remember my poor father coming 
in and telling us that he had purchased a chateau 
in the provinces with its furniture. ‘ Purchased 
a chateau!* cried my mother. ‘ When you have 
no fortune to leave to your children, what mad- 
ness to purchase an estate in the provinces!’ 
‘ It would be greater madness,’ my father re- 
plied, ^ to keep my money till that which now 
purchases an estate will scarcely buy a joint of 
meat. If I could lay by my money, I would: 
as I cannot, I must take the first investment 
that offers.’ And he proved to be right; for the 
deplorable poverty we soon suffered was yet a 
less evil than the punishment which my father 
could scarcely have escaped if he had kept his 
assignats.” 

“ Do you mean legal punishment?” 

“Yes. The government issued orders that 
its own most sapient plan should not fail. There 
was to be no difference between metal money 
and assignats, under pain of six years imprison- 
ment in irons for every bargain in which the 
one should be taken at a greater or less value 
than the other.” 

“ How stupid ! How barbarous!” exclaim- 


220 


MARKET-DAY. 


ed everybody. ‘‘ Almost the entire population? 
must have been imprisoned in irons, if the law 
had been executed: fo^ they had little money but 
assignats, and no power on earth could make 
paper promises valuable by calling them so.” 

“Yet, when the law was found inefficient, the 
punishment was increased. Instead of six 
years, the offenders were now to be imprisoned 
twenty. As this expedient failed, more and 
more violent ones were resorted to, till the op- 
pression became intolerable. All epneealment 
of stock, every attempt to avoid bringing the 
necessaries of life to market, to be sold at the 
prices fixed by the government, every evasion 
of an offered purchase, however disadv antage- 
ous, was now made punishable by death.” 

“ Why then did not everybody refuse to buy,* 
rather than expose sellers to such fearful 
danger?” 

“ There was soon no occasion for such an 
agreement. The shops were for the most part 
closed; and those which were not, displayed 
only the worst goods, while the better kinds still 
passed from hand to hand by means of secret 
bargains.” 

“ But what was done about the sale of bread 
and meat, and other articles of daily use?” 


MARKET-DAY. 


221 


" l iie batver’s shop opposite our windows had 
a rope fastened from the counter to a pole in 
the street: and customers topk their place in 
the line it formed, according to the order of 
their coming. Each customer presented a cer- 
tificate, obtained from the commissioners ap- 
pointed to regulate all purchases and sales; 
which certificate attested the political principles 
of the bearer ” 

“ What ! could not he buy a loaf of bread 
without declaring his political principles?” 

“ No; npr without a specification of the quan- 
tity he wished to purchase.” 

“ What a length of time it must have taken to 
supply a shop full of customers !” 

“ I have often seen hungry wretches arrive at 
dusk, and found them still waiting when I look- 
ed out in the morning. Our rest was frequent- 
ly disturbed by tumults, in which the more ex- 
hausted of the strugglers were beaten down, 
and trampled to death. The bakers would fain 
have closed their shops ; but every one who did 
so, after keeping shop a year, was declared a 
suspected person; and suspected persons had at 
that time no better prospect than the guillo- 
tine.” 


222 


MARKET-DAY. 


“ This system could not, of course, last long 
How did it come to an end.^” 

“ The government called in the assignats 
when they had sunk to three hundred times less 
than their nominal value. But this was not till 
more murders had been committed by the paper 
money than by their guillotine.” 

“You mean by distress, — by starvation.” 

“ And by the suicides occasioned by distress. 
My poor father was found in the Seine, one 
morning, after having been absent from home 
for two days, endeavouring in vain to make the 
necessary purchases of food for his family.” 

Mr. B. added, that people flocked down to 
the river side every morning, to see the bodies 
of suicides fished up, and to look along the 
shore for some relative or acquaintance who 
was missing. As Melea had observed, this 
could not go ‘on long; but the consequences 
were felt to this day, and would be for many a 
day to come. Every shock to commercial cred- 
it was a national misfortune which it required 
long years of stability to repair. 

This was the point to which Mr. Berkeley’s 
conversation now invariably came round, and 
none of his family could carry him over it. 


A FUTURE DAY. 


223 


Silence always ensued on the mention of com- 
mercial credit. It was indeed a sore subject in 
every house in Haleham. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A FUTURE DAY. 

‘ ‘ Is it all settled ? — completely settled ? ” asked 
Henry Craig of Horace, just when the latter 
was about to mount the coach to London, after 
a short visit of business, a few weeks after the 
stoppage of the D bank. “ And your sis- 

ters both leave us immediately?” 

“ Certainly, and immediately. But ask them 
about it: for they can bear the subject better 
than I.” 

I knew their intentions from the beginning . 
but so soon, — so very soon. I did not wish to 
believe it till I heard it from one of yourselves. 
I am grieved for you, Horace, almost as much 
as for Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley.” 

“And for yourself,” thought Horace, who 
was now fully aware of Mr. Craig’s interest in 
one member of his familv “ Do not think, 


224 


A FUTURE DAY. 


Henry,’’ he continued, that I blame my sis- 
ters for what they have done. They took this 
step as a matter of course, — as a necessary con- 
sequence of my fatht r’s misfortune ; and though 
I do not think I could have encouraged them tc 
it, I cannot bring myself to say they are wrong. 

Yet if I had known 

‘‘ I thought you always knew. I was fully 
aware what they would do.” 

“ If I had thought them in earnest ” 

It was indeed true that Horace’s sisters could 
bear this subject better than he. If they had 
been less grateful for his brotherly pride and 
affection, they would have called him weak for 
regretting that they should, like him, wish and 
work for independence. 

‘‘We leave Lewis behind, you know,” said 
Melea, smiling at the grave boy who was timidly 
listening to what Mr. Craig was saying, the next 
day, about his cousins going to live somewhere 
else. “ Lewis has made his uncle and aunt very 
fond of him already; and when he is son and 
daughters and nephew to them at once, they will 
have more interest in him still. Lewis’s being 
here makes us much less uneasy in leaving home 
than anything else could do.” 

While Melea went on to show how wrong it 


A FUTURE DAY. 


225 


would be to remain a burden upon their -father in 
his old age and impaired circumstances, Lewis 
stole out of the room to hide his tears. 

‘‘And now, Melea,” said Henry Craig, 
“ Lewis is out of hearing of your lesson, and 
you know how perfectly I agreed with you long 
ago about what you are doing. Do not treat 
me as if I had not been your friend and adviser 
throughout. Why all this explanation to me.^” 
“ I do not know; unless it was to carry off 
too strong a sympathy with Lewis,” replied 
Melea, smiling through the first tears Henry 
Craig had seen her shed. “ But do not fancy 
that I shrink. I am fond of children, I love 
teaching them; and if I could but form some 
idea of what kind of life it will be in other re- 
spects — 

“You know, Melea,” Henry continued, after 
a long pause, “ you know how I would fain have 
saved* you from making trial of this kind of life. 

You have understood, I am sure ” 

“ I have, Henry. I know it all. Say no 
more now.” 

“I must, Melea, because, if we are really 
destined to be a support to each other, if we love 
so that our lot is to be one through life, now is 
VoL. 1. — P 


226 


A FUTURE DAY. 


the time for us to yield each other that support, 
and to acknowledge that love.’’ 

‘‘ We cannot be more sure than we were 
before, Henry. We have little that is new to 
tell each other.” 

‘ ‘ Then you are mine, Melea. Y ou have long 
known that I was wholly yours. You must have 
known ” 

“ Very long; and if you knew what a support 
— what a blessing in the midst of everything — 
it makes me ashamed to hear any thing of my 
share in this trial.” 

Henry was too happy to reply. 

‘‘It is only a delay then,” he said at length. 
“We are to meet, to part no more in this world 
You are mine. Only say you are now already 
mine.” 

“ Your own, and I trust God will bless our 
endeavours to do our duty, till it becomes our 

duty to . But it will be a long, long time 

first; and my having undertaken such a charge 
must prove to you that I am in earnest in saying 
this. I would not have said what I have done, 
Henry, nor have listened to you, if I had not 
hoped that our mutual confidence would make us 
patient. We shall have much need of patience. ” 


A FUTURE DAY. 


227 


“We shall not fail, I trust. I feel as if I 
could bear any thing now: — absence, suspense, 
— whatever it may please Heaven to appoint 
us. But 1 feel as if I could do every thing too ; 

and who knows how soon Oh, Melea, is 

there really no other difficulty than our own 
labours may remedy.^ Your father — Mrs. 
Berkeley ” 

“ Ask them,” said Melea, smiling. “ I have 
not asked them, but I have not much fear.” 

Though Henry and Melea had long been 
sure that they had no reserves from each other, 
they now found that there was a fathomless 
depth of thoughts and feelings to be poured out; 
and that it was very well that Fanny was de- 
tained in the town, and that Lewis was long in 
summoning courage to show his red eyes in the 
dining-room. Its being Saturday was reason 
enough for the young clergyman’s going away 
without seeing the rest of the family; and that 
Monday was the day fixed for her departure 
accounted for Melea’s gentle gravity. She in- 
tended to open her mind fully to her mother 
before she went; but she must keep it to herself 
this night. 

Every one was struck with the fervour of 
spirit with which the curate went through tlie 


228 


A FUTURE DAY. 


services of the next day. Melea alone kne\f 
what was in his heart, and understood the full 
significance of his energy. 

It was not till Fanny and Melea were gone, 
and there was dullness in the small house to 
Avhich their parents had removed, and it was 
sometimes difficult to cheer Mr. Berkeley, and 
wounding to hear the school-children’s questions 
when the young ladies would come back again, 
that Henry Craig could fully realize the idea of 
the necessity of patience. He was still too 
happy when alone, and too much gratified by 
Mrs. Berkeley’s confidence in him as in a son 
to mourn over the events which had taken place 
as if they involved no good with their evil. Some 
of the dreariness of the family prospects belong- 
ed to his; but he had, in addition to their steady 
and lively hope of the due recompense of hon- 
ourable self-denial and exertion, a cause of 
secret satisfaction which kept his spirit poised 
above the depressing influences of suspense and 
loneliness. He still believed that, happen what 
might, he could, without difficulty, be patient. 
According to present appearances, there was 
every probability that this faith would be put tc 
the proof. 

END OF PART OF THE FIRST 


CONTENTS. 


CPAPTEH I. 

The Wife’s Journey - - . 6 

CHAPTER II. 

The Wife’s Holiday - - - S4 

CHAPTER HI. 

Suspicion ----- 
CHAPTER IV. 

The Wife’s Return - _ - 

CHAPTER V. 

The Wife’s Obedience - - 110 

CHAPER VI. 

An Arrangement - - 132 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Wife’s Recompense - 161 

CHAPTER VIII 

Arrangements completed 


173 


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BERKELEY THE BANKER. 


PART II. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE wife’s journey. 

Hester had been married four years, and had 
scarcely seen the face of an old friend in all that 
U*me. Mr. Pye had once been obliged to visit 
London on business, and Mrs. Parndon took ad- 
vantage of his escort to visit her daughter, which 
she had not previously appeared inclined to do. 
Her visit was, however, very short, as she de- 
clared that she always pined for home, — that she 
was bewildered with the bustle of London, — that 
she could not sleep well in any house but her 
own; and that, in short, Haleham was the best 
place for her. Hester anxiously endeavored to 
find out whether there was anything in the ways 
of her household which was displeasing to her 
mother. Edgar happened to be absent — gone 


6 


THE WIFE S JOURNEY. 


down to Brighton for a holiday — which was 
very well, as it was certain that there was much 
in his habits which would astonish aim terrify his 
good mother-in-law. His wife feared that Mrs 
Parndon’s visit being concluded before his re- 
turn was too plain a sign that she was aware of 
his domestic conduct being such as it would be 
painful to her to witness; it being unlikely, as 
the still loving wife said to herself, that anybody 
but herself should understand Edgar’s reasons 
for all that he did, and make allowance for the 
practices that young men fall into when they are 
thrown together as clerks in a public establish- 
ment are. Since irregularity of hours had be- 
come far from the most trying circumstance in 
Edgar’s way of life, Hester had carefully con- 
cealed even that one from her mother; and Mrs. 
Parndon made no reference to it during her stay : 
yet her hurry to be gone looked as if she might 
know it, and with it, much more; and this 
suspicion prevented Hester from saying any- 
thing about a repetition of her visit. Her voice 
was lost in tears when she saw her mother pre- 
paring with alacrity to depart, and when she re- 
membered how long it might be before she 
should again be cheered by the sight of a Hale- 


TUE WIFE S JOURNEY. 


7 


ham face, or by conversation about the concerns 
of her early friends; concerns which were more 
interesting to her than ever as her own grew 
less and less pleasant in the contemplation. 

Invitations were given, from time to time, to 
go down among these old friends; — invitations 
which she would fain have accepted, but on 
which Edgar made but one reply, as often as 
they were communicated to him — that he could 
not spare her. Her consolation in this answer 
was, that it would keep up his credit with the 
Haleham people as an attached husband; but it 
could not but appear strange to herself that he 
found it so difficult to spare her when he dis- 
pensed with as much of her society as he could 
at home, and seized every opportunity of run- 
ning down into the country, or taking a flight to 
the seaside without her. She could not help 
thinking, as she sat solitary, with the dusty 
beams of an August sun shining into her close 
parlour, that it would not have cost so very much 
to have taken a week’s trip to Haleham; — not 
so much as any one of Edgar’s many trips else- 
where, which were paid for, she supposed, out of 
the earnings of her pencil. She would not have 
troubled him for the money; she would have 


8 


THE wife’s journey. 


made a great effort to work harder, if he would 
have let her go. The prospect of once more 
beholding the harvest-fields and green lanes, the 
church-tower, and quiet, clean market-street of 
Haleham, would give her strength for an un- 
usual effort; while it was really very difficult to 
draw every day and all day long, with nothing 
better under her window than the hot rattling 
street, and with nobody to speak to but Philip, 
who yawned incessantly between his counter 
and his bed. 

Such a train of thought happened to pass 
through her mind one day when Edgar was no 
farther off than the Mint. She had been draw- 
ing all the morning — she had been drawing for 
two hours since dinner; and was now sitting 
with her hands pressed to her dazzled aching 
eyes. It was somewhat startling to feel a paii 
of hands folded over her own, and her cheek and 
forehead repeatedly kissed before she could re- 
cover the use of her eyes. It was only Edgar; 
but what joy that Edgar should be playing such 
a trick as this once more, after years of a most 
business-like gravity of deportment! 

‘‘ Your poor head is aching, I am sure,” said 
he. ‘‘And this little hand is whiter than it 
should be. You are not well, Plester.” 


THE wife’s journey. 


9 


“ It IS very foolish to sit down to draw direct- 
ly after dinner in such hot v/eather as this,” ob- 
served Hester, struggling with tears which 
would come, she could scarcely have told why. 

“My dear little woman, you are quite nervous 
and overworked and ill. You must go down to 
your mother, and see if she and Haleham can- 
not set you right again.” 

Hester looked up at her husband, with a 
cheek no longer pale. He went on, — 

“ No time like the present. I will send and 
have your place taken by the early morning 
coach.” 

“O, how very good you are!” cried Hester. 
“You cannot think — I am sure it will do me 
more good than — O, Edgar, you do not know 
how I have longed this summer to see those 
meadows again!” 

“ Well; you shall see them before to-morrow 
evening.” 

“ Had it not better be one day later?” in- 
quired Hester, timidly knowing that her hus- 
band did not like being opposed in any of his de- 
terminations. “ It might be an inconvenience to 
my mother to have me go without notice; and 
I cannot get all my things together to-night ; 


10 


THE WIFE S JOURNEY. 


and one day more will finish these drawings.’^ 

Edgar said if she meant to go at all, it must 
be the next morning. 

“ I should be paid for these tomorrow, if I 
carried them home myself,” once more urged 
Hester, thus intimating at the same time that 
she was bare of cash. 

“ Leave all that to me,” replied Edgar, good- 
humouredly. ‘‘ I will take care and get your 
due out of your employer.” 

Hester had no doubt of this. Her husband 
went on more to the purpose. 

‘‘You must want money, I know; and here 
is a supply for you. Aye, you look surprised to 
see such a parcel of notes, but they are all ones 
I took care to bring you ones, because the Hale- 
ham people have been terribly pinched for small 
money since the crash. You would have found 
it difficult to get change for tens or fives.” 

“ How very kind of you to think of such little 
things, when you were planning this journey for 
me!” exclaimed the grateful wife. “But here 
is far more money than I can possibly want in 
a week.” 

“Why should you stay only a week.^ So 
seldom as you leave home, I should be sorry to 


THE wife’s journey. 


11 


hurry you back again. My trips are short 
enough to be sure; but you have no business at 
the Mint to bring you back just when you are 
beginning to enjoy yourself; and I am sure I 
should be sorry to burry you.” 

‘‘But, Edgar, if I were to stay a month, I 
could not spend all this money.” 

“ Not on yourself, little woman, 1 dare say; 
for you are not one of the wives who like to see 
their husbands work hard that they may spend in 
idleness. You work as hard as I do; and if you 
do not bring me quite such a bundle of notes as 
this, neither do you bedizen yourself like half 
your neighbors in this street. But, Hester, we 
have carried our economy a little too far.” 

“I am so glad to hear it!” cried Hester. 
“But I did not know how much we might spend ; 
and it is always safer to spend too little than 
too much.” 

“ True; but now is a good time to be setting 
ourselves up with some things that we want. Get 
yourself a new gown or two, my dear, and a bon- 
net, and whatever else you think you really 
want.” 

“ I will go this moment, there is time before 
dark, and I can take my place myself,” cried 


12 


THE wife’s journey. 


Hester, hastily putting away her drawing mate- 
rials; but her husband laid a heavy hand upon 
her shoulder. 

‘‘You shall do no such thing. You have 
enough to do to pack up, and make arrange- 
ments for the time of your absence; and I am 
sure we had both rather that you should spend 
your little money among your old Haleham 
friends. Philip will spare his boy to run and 
take your place, I am sure.” 

The boy came for orders, and Hester was 
giving him a note out of her new treasure 
when Edgar stopped her hand. He gave the 
boy a sovereign from his own pocket, observ- 
ing that she should carry her little fund with 
her untouched. 

“ And while you are spending,” he went on, 
“you may as well get a few more things that 
we want very much.” 

“My mother and I can make you some new 
shirts,” observed Hester. 

“Yes; and I have always meant that you 
should have a more complete stock of house- 
linen than I could afford when we were marri- 
ed. That table-cover ’ is terribly stained and 
shabby. I am nearly out of writing-paper too: 


THE wife’s journey. 


13 


you may get as large a stock of stationary as 
you please from your old friend Pye.” 

“ Do you mean that I am to get all these 
things at Haleham? Will not the Haleham 
people laugh at a Londoner going down to buy 
the goods they get from London?” 

“ Never mind if they do. Tell them you had 
rather have accounts with old acquaintance than 
with new. You can take boxes that will hold 
your purchases; and if not, I shall not grumble 
at a little extra expense for carriage. And now 
go and pack up; for I have no doubt of there 
being a place for you.” 

Hester felt as if in a dream. The journey 
might be a reality; the bundle of bank notes 
might be no illusion; but Edgar’s consideration 
for her convenience, and for the gratification ot 
the Haleham people, was wholly astonishing. 
She was haunted with a dread that a change 
would yet come over her happy prospects. 
When assured that her place was taken, she 
trembled at her husband’s approachin’g footstep, 
lest he should be coming to recall his permis- 
sion. When she went to bed, scarcely able to 
stand from fatigue, but too excited to expect 
immediate sleep, she was certain of not waking 


14 


THE wife's journey. 


in time for the coach. Every thing seemed 
more probable than that she should, by the same 
hour the next night, be in the little light-green 
room, with its white curtains, and eastern win- 
dow open to the moon, where she had slept the 
happy sleep of childhood and youth. Such en- 
joyment was, however, actually in store for her. 
Edgar did not change his mind, but rather 
seemed eager that nothing should delay her de- 
parture. She did not sleep too late, but, on the 
contrary, started up when the first brick-red 
reflection from the opposite chimneys entered 
her chamber. She had a full quarter of an hour 
to wait in the morning shadows of the inn-yard, 
amidst the shouts of the ostlers, the clatter of 
horses’ hoofs, the stare of yawning loungers, 
and the importunities of porters. When fairly 
off the stones, and bowling over the smooth 
roads, she felt as much inclined to talk and be 
merry as any school-girl going home for the 
holidays. Her companions not looking partic- 
ularly exhilarated, however, she kept her spirits 
to herself, and sat, with her face close to the 
open window, letting the dewy hedges and the 
flowery banks whirl away amidst a dreamy kind 
of half notice, watching for glimpses into the 


THE WIFE S JOURNEY. 


15 


green lanes which led to retired farm-houses, 
and feeling disposed to nod to every meek-faced 
sheep that looked up from its browsing as the 
coach passed by. She was going back to Hale- 
ham a happy wife; for Edgar’s revived atten- 
tion was felt in combination with the delicious 
associations awakened by the scenery of a sum- 
mer morning in the country; her many long days 
of disappointment, and nights of weary watching 
were forgotten; and all sense of pain and inju- 
ry was lost in her present emotions of grateful 
pleasure. 

What a bustle was there in Mrs. Parndon’s 
house that afternoon! There was dinner to be 
brought up again, when the little maid had 
nearly finished what her mistress had left; and 
the sheets to be aired, and the hanging of the 
tent-bed to be put on; and Mrs. Price, the 
rnantua-maker and milliner, to be sent for to take 
orders about improving Hester’s shabby ward- 
robe with all possible speed; and a hundred 
reasons for this shabbiness to be invented, — 
such as London dust in the summer — leaving 
handsome winter things behind — and so forth. 
When Mrs. Price had been duly impressed with 
the necessity of her apprentice working all nighty 


16 


THE wife’s journey. 


in order to Hester’s genteel appearance before 
the old acquaintances who would certainly call; 
when the newest fashion of a morning cap had 
been sent over, approved, and purchased, and 
a bonnet promised by the time Mrs. Morrison 
should want to show herself in town in the mid- 
dle of the day, — that is, by the time the moth- 
er’s vanity was catered for — she began to think 
of indulging a mother’s affection. 

‘‘ Well, my dear,” said she, “ I believe you 
are right, and we will keep snug for to-day, un- 
less Mr. Pye should happen to go past. You 
will not object to his coming in; and he will 
never observe your gown being so much faded, 
depend upon it. Now, rest yourself on my bed. 
We can easily beat it up again; and I will sit 
beside you, and rub up your straw bonnet a-bit, 
while we talk. I think I can get off some of 
the tan, and I have a ribbon that is better than 
this; and then you can go out in it early in the 
morning, or in the gray of the evening, till 
Mrs. Price sends home your new one. Come, 
lie down; and I will get my work-basket in a 
minute.” 

Hester was not at all tired. She had rather 
sit by the window and look at the London Pride 


the wife s journey. 


17 


in the court, and at the town’s people as they 
passed by. There was one corner of the win- 
dow-seat too, whence she could catch an angle 
of the church tower. 

Just as she pleased ; only it would be as well 
not to let herself be seen over the blind till 
dusk. Could not she be just quilling up a frill 
or a collar while they sat, that would look a lit- 
tle better than the one she had on? Well, well: 
to be sure she might not be inclined for work, 
and there would be plenty of time, perhaps, 
when the bonnet was done. Whom or what did 
Hester want to hear about first? 

Everybody. Everything. How was Mr. Pye ? 

“ O very well, in all respects but his hear- 
ing. Poor man ! Everybody sees that his deaf- 
ness is growing upon him sadly; but he does 
not like to have it noticed, and I am afraid it 
would hurt him very much to mention such a 
thing as his using a trumpet; but how he is to 
get on in his shop, all by himself, without it, I 
don’t see. It was but last week I was there 
when a lady from the country was buying a lit- 
tle book; and while he was tying it up, she 
asked him what the bells were ringing for, for- 
getting that it was a royal birth-day. ‘ What 
VoL. II.~B 


18 


THE wife’s journey. 


are the bells ringing for, Mr. Pye?’ says she 
‘Eighteen-pence, Madam,’ said he. ‘No, — 
the bells are ringing. Do you know what it is 
for?’ says she. ‘ One and sixpence. Madam,’ 
said he. If it goes on so, ladies will not like 
coming to his shop; but he will never be per- 
suaded to get a trumpet.” 

“ If we get him one, — if one came down from 
London on purpose for him, would he not use 
it? I think he would hardly refuse any gift 
from me.” 

“ If he thanked you, he would just put it by, 
and we should see no more of it.” 

“ Then he should have somebody to wait in 
his shop.” 

“Aye: or somebody to be at his elbow to 
help him when he is puzzled. When he comes 
here of an evening, he has all sorts of ways of 
trying to find out what he is at a loss about, 
without exactly saying that he is at a loss. You 
cannot think what work I have sometimes to 
help him to guess out what people’s orders can 
mean, when he has caught only half of them.” 

“ What weakness! What a pity he should 
give so much trouble to himself and everybody 
else! However, I suppose there is one good 


THE wife’s journey. 


19 


consequence of this false shame. He does not 
teaze his next neighbor to tell him all that eve- 
ry body says.” 

“No. I am generally with him when there 
is conversation going on; and he knows I tell 
him all that is worth hearing. Only, it is rather 
a pity that he pretends to have heard it the first 
time. However, we none of us know, — we 
might do the same; and there is not a more 
upright, or a kinder man than Mr. Pye; — ex- 
cept, indeed, that he need not speak quite so 
sharply, sometimes when he happens to have 
heard what was said, and one repeats it all for 
his sake. But, as I said, we none of us know. 
I do so wonder whether he will come to-night! 
It is seldom he misses; especially since he has 
been a little out of spirits about his business.” 

Hester was very sorry to hear of this. She 
had hoped that Mr. Pye’s old-established con- 
cern had been one of the least likely to suffer 
from the changes of the times. 

“ After such a crash as Cavendish’s,” replied 
the widow, “ all concerns in the neighborhood 
must feel a great difference. But, besides bad 
debts and much loss of custom, you would hardly 
believe how Mr. Pye’s business has suffered only 


20 


THE wife’s journey. 


from the scarcity of small change. The great 
country folks cnme to buy children’s books as 
they used to do, and they let their bills run up 
to a large even sum. But the middling and 
poor people, who do not run bills, have mostly 
left off sending for their little supply of station- 
ary, and their cheap tracts, and even their al- 
manacks. You may be in the shop the whole 
morning, and not a customer will come for a 
penny sheet of paper; which is a thing I should 
not have believed five years ago. Mr. Pye 
laughs, poor man, and says that if love-letters 
are written in Haleham now, it must be on the 
backs of old-letters; for none of the Haleham 
lovers seem to have any pence to spare.” 

“ How do the grocers and drapers and butch- 
ers get on?” asked Hester. ‘‘ The same in- 
convenience must affect them.” 

‘‘ There is nothing for it but letting bills run, 
or serving two or three customers together, who 
pay each other afterwards as they may agree. 
Some of our shopkeepers excuse a small part of 
the price in consideration of being paid in 
change. They are very unwilling to take large 
notes. A ten will rarely change for any thing 
but two fives; and five may go round the town 


THE wife’s journey. 


2i 


for days before any one will take it for a small 
payment.”^ 

“ It is very well,” observed Hester, “ that my 
husband remembered this, and ^ave me only 
ones. To be sure he is the person to be aware 
of such things if any body is, for the Mint has 
been very busy lately coining bank tokens. But 
if small change bears a premium, I suppose 
much that has disappeared will soon come back 
again.” 

The widow wished it might; and that it 
would bring with it the credit and the plenty of 
money in which Haleham had formerly rejoiced. 
Hester observed, that the credit must co-exist 
with the abundance of money in order to make 
it of any use; and that credit would be .now of 
some use, she supposed, in compensating for 
the scarcity of money, if its diminution had not 
unfortunately been the cause of such scarcity. 
She was surprised, however, to find her mother, 
an annuitant, sighing for the days of high prices. 
She thought she must now find her income go 
much farther than during the time when Caven- 
dish’s bank was flourishing. This was very true ; 
and Mrs. Parndon’s sighs were for Enoch and 
not for herself She brightened when reminded 


22 


THE wife’s journey. 


to relate how the little matters of her house- 
keeping had grown cheaper since her daughter 
left her. When the list was gone through, Hester 
remarked that the recollection of this comforted 
her about the Berkeley’s. Edgar had told her 

that the partners of the D bank were living 

on allowances made by the creditors, while the 
affairs of the bank were being wound up. It was 
pleasant to think that such an allowance became 
worth more as money grew scarcer; and she 
hoped that what she at first thought a very poor 
income for Mr. and Mrs. Berkeley, might by 
this time have been proved enough to make them 
very comfortable. The young ladies too had 
salaries; and these were days when salaries were 
very advantageous. 

You forget, my dear, how far the debts of 
the family exceed the allowance and the earnings 

on which they live. The D bank incurred 

these debts v/hen money was cheap, and has to 
pay them now that money is dear; which adds 
to the difficulties of the partners in a way that 
nobody could have foreseen. It is a subject 
that poor Mr. Berkeley cannot bear. He is 
forever complaining of the injustice of it, though 
nobody can help him now.” 


THE wife’s journey. 


23 


“It would be very well, however, if every 
body complained, mother; for there would be 
more care in future how money was made too 
plentiful at one time and too scarce at another 
You know you used to lament very much 
when not only nobody could help you, but very 
few were inclined, because there was a great 
appearance of prosperity while Haleham was 
filled with Cavendish’s notes. But how is Mrs. 
Berkeley ? for I always liked her better than the 
old gentleman; and the young ladies, whom I 
love best of all? It will be a sad blank not to 
see them here.” 

“ There is somebody who feels the blank more 
than you, Hester, and will help to fill it up some 
day. We all look to Mr. Craig to bring Miss 
Melea among us again, you know. He always 
gives me pleasant accounts about the young 
ladies, when I venture to ask him ; and I am sure, 
from what he says, that they are in no wise 
down-hearted about a way of life that nobody at 
one time thought of their following.” 

“ Did they look so when they came in the 
spring?” 

“ By no means. Miss Melea has a grave look 
in her sweet face now; but that would be natu 


24 


THE wipe’s journey. 


rai from her prospects, you know. And she 
laughs as merrily as ever when she is with the 
children at their play, and sings like an angel. 
She is fonder of children than ever, which is a 
very good sign of her being happy, so much 
more as she has to do with them now.” 

She always was fond of children, from the 
time she used to run races with the little Mar- 
tins in the hay-field, outstripping them every 
one; and if she lives to be an old lady, sit- 
ting in her easy chair from morning to night, 
depend upon it she will always be the first per- 
son in the room that the children will run to.” 

Bless her bright face! one can hardly 
fancy it with the eyes dim and the hair grey; 
but the smile will never leave her. It will be 
the same if she lives to eighty. Praj Heaven 
she may! Here comes master Lewis, I declare. 
Well; you will have seen one person to-night, 
though not an old acquaintance. Come in, 
master Lewis, and see my daughter, Mrs. Ed- 
gar Morrison.” 

When the introduction had been properly 
gone through, Lewis told his errand. He could 
not find Mr. Pye at home, and came to seek him 
here, to tell him that the schoolmaster was 


THE wife’s journey. 


‘25 


very wroth at a set of copy-books, which had 
been expected and inquired for for several days, 
not having made its appearance; and some of the 
boys had been obliged to have a fragment of a 
holiday this afternoon from this cause. They 
had been upon the heath to fly kites and play 
cricket, whence Lewis had brought the bunch of 
broom, heath, and harebells which Hester had 
been devouring with her eyes while he was tell- 
ing his story. Lewis observed that the boys 
were agreeably surprised at having gained a half 
holiday by Enoch’s fault about the copy-books, 
instead of being punished for it as they had ex- 
pected. 

Hester was surprised at this; she thought the 
schoolmaster had been a remarkably good- 
tempered person. Lewis remembered that he 
had considered him so at first; but the master 
had been an altered man from the day of Cav- 
endish’s failure. He had not only lost four 
pupils, and the prospect of more, by that failure, 
but a great deal of money. He, like every one 
else, had been paid in Cavendish’s notes; and 
Lewis remembered the awful morning when the 
master came into the school, as white as a sheet 
with passion, and called out the four Master Cav- 


26 


THE wife’s journey. 


endishes to stand in a row before his desk, out 
of which he took a handful of bank-notes, held 
them up in the face of the whole school, declared 
them as worthless as if they had been forged, 
denounced their issuer as a swindler, and ordered 
the four little boys to march off, and never show 
their faces to him again, since they bore the 
disgrace of being their father’s children. — Mrs. 
Parndon reminded Lewis that he should not have 
repeated this story, as the master was long ago 
ashamed of the cruel conduct into which his 
sense of injury had goaded him. — Hester would 
have wondered that Lewis was allowed to go to 
school any more to a man who could thus give 
way to his passion, but that she knew that the 
circumstance was totally unlike the general 
character of the man; and she now learned that 
Lewis went to him for the inferior parts of his 
education only, studying the classics and some 
still better things under Mr. Craig. 

^‘Was nothing left of all the grand show 
the Cavendishes made to pay the creditors with.^” 
asked Hester. ‘‘Was it a dead loss to every 
body.^” 

“There was about seven-pence in the pound,” 
replied her mother; “ so they left few people to 


THE wife’s journey. 


27 


care what became of them. But it comes across 
my mind sometimes how that poor little tribe is 
fed. Nobody can conceive how they are living.” 

“And the premises here stand empty?” 

“Yes. They are in bad repute, from nobody 
having kept them long together. They look so 
desolate!” 

Hester observed that it was growing dusk, 
that her straw bonnet was beautified nearly as 
much as it could be, and that it would be vei^ 
refreshing to walk out a little way. Why should 
not they just go and peep about at Cavendish’s 
and see what kind of a state the place was in ? 

They were presently there, and Lewis shewed 
them a sly way of obtaining entrance into the 
yards. He had been before with many a boy to 
play see-saw on the two or three timbers that 
were left, or to fish from the wharf, or to salute 
the lingering pigeons. 

These pigeons had, as slyly, found entrance 
into the deserted granary, which, though called 
empty, contained wherewith to support a Hock 
of pigeons through many a year of neglect. At 
the sound of voices, they came peeping out of 
their hole, flapping their wings prodigiously, and 
perking their heads, and twisting their bright 


28 


THE wife’s journey. 


necks, while they eyed the strangers from the 
housetop. The very sound of their wings, and 
the feel of the weedy soil was luxury to Hester 
after four years of London canaries and London 
pavement. She was running towards the timbers 
with a view to see-saw, when a ripple of the 
water caught her eye. She turned to the steps 
of the staithe, stood on the lowest above the 
stream, now touching it with the extremity of 
her shoe, and now stooping to look for the min- 
nows. It made her thirsty to watch the weeds 
waving in the clear water when Lewis switched 
the surface, and to listen to the lapse of the 
stream. 

While she was settling with Lewis that she 
would go and see him fish one day, and asking 
whether it was permitted now to loiter among 
the clumped alders a little way down the other 
bank, or to sit and read in the boat that was 
moored under their shade, the widow was walk- 
ing round the house, trying what she could see 
through the windows, that were too thickly 
coated with dust to allow much revelation of 
matters within. She put on her spectacles to 
read the weather-stained board which told that 
these premises were to be sold or let: she lifted 


THE wife’s journey. 


29 


the knocker, in spite of the rust, and knocked, 
just to see that nobody would come: lastly, 
having pulled out the rickety handle of the door 
in trying whether it was fastened, and broken off 
a large splinter of the rotten window-sill in 
raising herself to look in, she stuck in the one 
and stuck on the other, with a guilty look round 
her, and went to tell Hester that it was quite 
time to be going home. 

Just then the clock struck, and Hester could 
not move till she had listened to its last stroke; — 
its sound was so different, coming through the 
still evening air, from that of any London clock 
heard amidst the din of the streets. They had, 
however, kept Lewis from home too long, and 
Mrs. Parndon was secretly fidgetting lest Mr. 
Pye should have called in their absence. She 
could not object to see Lewis home, especially 
as the circuit would bring her back by her fa- 
vourite way. 

Hester asked fifty questions about the houses 
they passed, and walked slowly by wherever 
there were lights within, while the shutters 
were yet unclosed. Again and again she 
ionged to walk in where there were girls at 
work round a table, or some whom she had 


30 


THE wife’s journey. 


known as girls, hushing a baby to sleep, or tying 
on the night-caps of ruddy-faced, drowsy boys. 
She did not know the apothecary’s apprentice 
who was lighting the lamps behind the red and 
green jars; but every drawer with its gilt labe’ 
was familiar to her. The butcher was shut- 
ting up shop; and the catch and snap of his 
shutters was exactly what she remembered it 
There was, just as formerly, a crate and a litter 
of straw before the door of the crockery shop; 
and, as she looked in at the second-rate mantau- 
maker’s window, she saw the curl-papered 
apprentice sweeping together the scattered pins, 
and doubling up the tapes and measures, prepa- 
ratory to putting on her bonnet and shawl for a 
turn and a breath of fresh air. 

Now, Master Lewis, run home. We shall 
see you in from this corner, you know. Our 
respects at home, and my daughter will do her- 
self the honour of calling within a day or two. 
Be sure you remember. Master Lewis.” 

O, I forgot all about the copy-books,” cri- 
ed Lewis. 

‘‘Never mind! We are going past, and I 
will remind Mr. Pye. — This way, Hester. You 
forget your way, child. 


THE wife’s journey 


SI 


No Hester was only exploring the extent of 
the dwelling. Was this small, ugly, upright red 
brick house, with a formal little garden in front, 
really the abode of the Berkeleys? When she 
remembered how Mr. Berkeley used to stretch 
himself out in his resting chair in the large bay 
window that overlooked his rosary and an ex- 
panse of meadows beyond, she could not imag- 
gine him breathing at his ease in a little parlour 
with only one window, and that within sight of » 
the road. 

‘‘Why, there is Mr. Pye, I declare!” cried the 
widow, when she had peeped through the inter- 
stices of the picture books with which the win- 
dow was decorated. “ And I do not believe he 
has been beyond his door this evening.” 

It was very true that he had not. He had got 
hold of his favourite newspaper, which told of 
all the religious meetings, and all the good pub- 
lications of the week; and this refreshment of 
his spirit Enoch could not forego, even for Mrs. 
Parndon. He either would not or did not hear 
the tinkle of the shop-door bell: perhaps he 
thought that a customer who came so late must 
be one who might wait till he had finished his 
paragraph : but Hester made bold to project her 


32 


THE wife's journey. 


face over the top of his tall newspaper, and toe 
next moment repented having thus surprised the 
nervous old man. He upset his’ single candlo 
with his elbow, and when more light was 
brought, looked by no means certain whether he 
should see a ghost or a form of flesh and blood 
He jerked his spectacles ’ about wonderfully for 
some minutes, and could remember nothing at 
first about the order for copy-books. Wlien he 
began to recover himself, he threw Hester into 
distress by asking in his simple, unceremonious 
way, whether Providence had blessed her as she 
deserved in husband and in home ; and whether 
she was not come to show her young companions 
what rewards in marriage attend dutiful and dili- 
gent children. The best thing she could do, — 
and it quite satisfied him, — was to tell the story 
of her sudden journey. Then how Edgar’s 
praises resounded through the shop, and into the 
little back parlour where the maid of all work 
was lingering to overhear the fine moral lesson 
of a London husband being the appropriate re- 
ward of filial duty! It was very well for her 
morals that it reached her thus; for she would 
not have found it in any of the books she was 
sometimes employed to dust in the window; 


THE wife’s journey. 


33 

and it is certain that Mr.. Craig never preached 
u in church. 

When Enoch had been brought to give ashy 
promise that he would look in at the window’s 
at spare hours, Hester was hurried home and to 
rest by her happy mother. . 

“ How fagged you must be, my dear!” she 
cried, as she saw her daughter stopping before 
some palings, and ^^unposed it was to rest. 

‘‘ Very little indeed, ” replied Hester. ‘‘This 
mignionette smells so sweet in the night air, I 
must try whether it is not within reach. That 
in my window at home is always either black 
with smoke or brown with dust: and what is 
dew in London?” 

So saying, she stole a few sprigs through the 
paling, promising to call and confess the next 
day. , 

“ I ain so glad we went out!” said she, at 
bed-time, cherishing her mignionette till the last 
moment before putting out her light, “It would 
have been a pity to lose one whole evening out 
of a single week.” 

“And will you stay no more than a week? 
We shall not let you go so soon as.that, I rather 
think.” 

VoL. T1 — C 


84 


THE wife’s holiday. 


Hester kept down a sigh, hoped that Edgar's 
indulgent mood might last, and went to sleep to 
dream that she was called home the very next 
day. 


CHAPTER H. 

THE wife’s holiday. 

So complete a revulsion in the affairs of indi- 
dividuals had taken place throughout Haleham, 
that it would have been surprising if, while all 
other people were busy talking about the state of 
the currency, the Haleham folks had not been 
pre-eminently occupied with it. A grand crisis 
was thought to be at hand, and those who had 
profited and those who had suffered by past 
changes were equally eager, the one party to look 
forward, the other to look back, in order to gain 
some degree of insight into their state and pros- 
pects. All had dearly purchased the knowledge 
that bank-paper is not all alike, however carelessly 
one sort or another may pass from hand to hand. 
Everybody in Haleham now knew the difference 


THE wife’s holiday. 


35 


between a paper currency that depends on con- 
fidence, and one that rests on authority. Both 
are in fact circulating credit; but the credit of 
Bank of England notes is avouched by govern- 
ment authority, and that of private banks rests 
only on private confidence. It was pretty clear 
that confidence had been in both cases betrayed. 
The Bank of England had not wisely regulated 
its issues, and had thereby impaired the sanction 
of government authority. Cavendish had acted 
knavishly, and thus injured commercial credit. 
Out of the evils of the system it arose that the 
honourable, and (at the time) solvent firm of the 
D bank had stopped, and been thus com- 

pelled to aggravate the decline of public confi- 
dence. The consequences of these shocks tend- 
ed to ruin the classes who had kept their ground 
during the former alterations in the currency, 
while they could not be said to repair former in- 
juries. Some people were at first very ready to 
say, that the sudden reduction of the quantity 
of money was a fine thing, because all who had 
suffered from there being too much would now 
win back again what they had lost; but this was 
soon found not to be the case, so far as to make 
the new change anything but an evil. In many 


36 


THE wife’s HOLIDAr. 


instances, the suffering parties had suffered be- 
yond the reach of reparation. Besides those 
who had died, and those who had failed, and 
those who had mortgaged and sold their pro- 
perty, there were multitudes whose contracts 
(originally advantageous and ultimately ruinous) 
had expired; and multitudes more whose loss of 
credit precluded them from sharing the advan- 
tages of a change in the amount of currency. 
Nobody had suffered more in proportion than 
the owners of house property, during the super- 
abundance of money: but they did not profit by 
the reduction of its amount, for it was difficult 
to let houses at such a time of wavering credit; 
and house-rents fell with the prices of other 
things. All who had incurred debts through the 
previous rise of prices were injured anew by 
their fall; because, though their income might 
be increased, their debts were increased in the 
same proportion; and the injury outweighed the 
advantage by so much exactly as the debts ex- 
ceeded the portion of income which was spared 
from consumption to pay them. A capricious 
good fortune attended those who had just made 
new contracts; but this was at the expense of 
the other party to the contracts. Annuitants 


THE wife’s holiday. 


37 


and stipendiaries were richer than before, and 
thought it all very fair, in return for their season 
of adversity; but the productive classes felt il 
to be vhry unfair: and this very difference of 
opinion and feeling, by giving a new shock to 
mutual confidence, destroyed the partial advan- 
tages which might otherwise have arisen. Thus, 
while manufacturers, who had bought their raw 
material dear, and now had to sell it, in its man- 
ufactured state, cheap, pointed enviously to the 
owners of the houses they dwelt in, those own- 
ers would have been glad if things had remain- 
ed as they were, rather than that they should 
have the prospect of lowering their rents, or 
having their buildings stand empty. While the 
shopkeeper, who had bought his stock dear, and 
was now selling under prime cost, was grumb- 
ling at his physician’s fees, the physician would 
have been well pleased to buy as little as for- 
merly with his guineas, on condition 'of having 
as many patients. They declared that the pres- 
ent was a fine harvest -time for quack doctors; 
and that the undertakers were likely to profit by 
the numbers who killed themselves, or let them- 
selves die, from not being able to afford a doc- 
tor. Few were contented; and the content of 


38 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


these was of a kind to impair and not strength- 
en the security of society; for it did not spring 
out of the recompense of toil and prudence. 
Their prosperity seemed to come by chance, 
and had therefore no good effect on themselves 
or others; while it weighed light in the balance 
against the evils which the same revulsion 
brought to ten times their number. One action 
on the currency, all wise men agreed, is a tre- 
mendous evil. A second, though of a strictly 
antagonist character, can be no reparation, but 
only a new infliction; and a third, if any one 
could harbour so preposterous an idea for a mo- 
ment, can only augment the confusion, and risk 
the entire forfeiture of public faith, — the anni- 
hilation of commercial credit. 

At the then present time, in 1818, it was no 
longer a question whether a change should or 
should not take place. The change was per- 
fectly involuntary. It had already taken place 
to a large extent, as the natural and unavoida- 
ble consequence of the previous action on the 
currency. The over-issue of former years had 
caused a tremendous destruction of bank-paper, 
and had made all banking firms cautious about 
issuing more. Whether there should be a re- 


THE WIFE^S HOLIDAY. 


39 


duction of the quantity of money was, there- 
fore, no more a matter of debate. There had 
been, in two years, such a reduction as had 
raised bank-paper to within per cent, ot the 
value of gold. The only question was, wheth- 
er advantage should be taken of this existing 
reduction to oblige the Bank of England to re- 
turn to the old system of convertibility. Many 
who had prophesied for years that the Bank of 
England never would return to cash payments, 
persisted still that it was impossible. Others, 
who believed that to have plenty of money was 
to have plenty of everything, protested that the 
privilege of inconvertibility ought to remain. 
Others foretold a dreadful increase of the crime 
of forgery, and did not perceive that there would 
be a proportionate decrease in that of coining, 
and an end to the offences of melting and selling 
gold coin. Not a few prepared themselves to 
forget their chronology, and to declaim in future 
years on the effect of the return to cash pay- 
ments in impoverishing half the traders in the 
country; as if this return had not been the con- 
sequence instead of the cause of a reduction in 
the quantity of the currency. Some wno had 
been concerned in procuring the Restriction 


40 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


Act, and had borne their share in that measure 
with fear and trembling, were now not a little 
astonished to find that one party of debaters 
took what they had meant as merely an una- 
voidable expedient to be a permanent improve- 
ment in the currency system; and that they re- 
garded the return to cash payments with an 
evil eye, not only as inflicting immediate hard- 
ship, but as a going back from an enlightened 
to a barbarous system. If all had thought like 
this party, the originators of the Restriction 
measure might have spared themselves their 
scruples and apprehensions in introducing a 
state of things during which light guineas were 
worth more, in a legal way, than heavy ones; 
during which men were tried, convicted, and 
punished for getting less in exchange for a 
heavy guinea than they might lawfully have 
gained for a light one; during which there was 
no measure for proportioning the amount of the 
circulating medium to the quantity of commod- 
ities; during which the most tremendous and 
incessant fluctuations of price might take place 
without any check; during which the commer- 
cial credit of the whole nation rested between the 
hands of the Directors of the Bank of England. 


THE WIFE*S HOLIDAY. 


41 


Some of our legislators thought that nothing but 
a desperate state of affairs could have warranted 
the adoption of so desperate an expedient; and 
were simple' enough to think that the sooner it 
could be obviated, with safety to public credit, 
the better; and they would have been amused, 
if they had not been shocked, at hearing that 
the state out of which the currency was then 
able to emerge, was actually better than the sys- 
tem of security by checks which they now 
wished to substitute. 

Among all these differences of opinion, there 
was abundance of discussion wherever there 
were people who were interested in exchanges; 
that is, in every corner of England. The chil- 
dren every where grew tired of the very words 

cash payments,” and the women were disap- 
pointed at finding that when their husbands and 
brothers had exhausted the argument, whether 
there should and would be a return to cash pay- 
ments, another subject for argument remained; 
— how this return could and should be effected : 
whether a definite time should be fixed, after 
which the privilege of inconvertibility should 
cease; or whether the cessation should take 
place, whenever — be it sooner or later — Bank- 


42 


THE Wife’s holiday. 


paper and gold should be of exactly the same 
value. 

A still further subject of debate was, whether 
ihe Bank should pay in coin, or in metal under 
some other shape. As paper-money is far more 
convenient in use than coined money, and would 
be liked better by every body, if it could but be 
made safe, any plan by which security could be 
obtained, while the great expense of coinage is 
saved, was likely to be received with much at- 
tention. Such a plan had been proposed before 
this time, and was now much discussed. It was 
proposed that the Bank of England should pay 
its notes on demand, not in coin, but in bars of 
metal, proved to be of the proper fineness, and 
divided into the proper weights. The being 
obliged to pay in precious metal on demand 
would be as great a security against an over- 
issue of paper as if the Bank had had to pay in 
coin, while the expense of coinage would be 
saved, the danger of runs would be prevented, 
and the people be kept supplied with the more 
convenient kind of currency. Such were the 
advantages expected by those who were friendly 
to the scheme; while such as were averse to 
whatever is new, offered all kinds of objections 


THE wife’s holiday. 


43 


to it; and the advocates of a metallic currency 
were perpetually reminding the arguers that it 
would be as well to see whether there was any 
likelihood of the Bank resuming cash payments 
at all, before they settled how it was to be done. 

There was talk in every shop in Haleham of 
bars of bullion; and many questions were put 
from one to another about whether any man would 
like to have his payment in bullion as well as in 
coin; and much information was given about the 
ease with which these bars might be turned into 
coin, by just carrying them to the Mint. Hester 
was much looked up to both as being the wife of a 
person connected with the Mint, and as the bring- 
er of a new supply of small notes into the little 
town. She fou nd herself admirably served in the 
shops. The shirting she bought was warranted 
strong enough for the mainsail of a man-of-war, 
notwithstanding its beautiful fineness. The cover 
for her parlor table was of the richest pattern, 
picked out from an assortment of purple grounds 
and orange borders, of green grounds and yel- 
low borders, of yellow grounds and blue borders. 
The stationary was of Enoch’s very best. The 
writing-paper came from the heights, the ac- 
count-books from the depths of his shop; and 


44 


THE wife’s holiday. 


the pens, in symmetrical bundles, were brought 
out from recesses whence they issued as free from 
dust as if they had been plucked the hour before, 
When Hester took out her roll of notes to pay 
ready money for whatever she bought, the trades- 
people and the loungers who beheld, all agreed 
that she had indeed made a very fine match. 

“ Very busy at the Mint, I trust, Mrs. Morri- 
son,” was the address of many a shopkeeper to 
her. ‘‘ I am sure I hope they mean to send out 
plenty more coin yet. There is a terrible scarci- 
ty, Ma’am; and it is a sad hinderanceto business. 
Very little money stirring since the crash of the 
banks ; and the gold that has come out of holes 
and hiding-places is nothing in comparison of the 
paper that is destroyed. Mr. Morrison is of 
my opinion, I hope. Ma’am?” 

Hester was not aware . what her husband 
thought of the matter, one way or other; but 
she did not say so; and began to think it 
odd that she, a Londoner, should know so little 
about the currency, while in the country every 
body seemed full of the subject. 

‘‘ If there is so little gold and so few notes,” 
said she, “ why is not more silver used? If 
the banks break and leave us very little paper, 


THE wife’s holiday. 


45 


and if people have hidden, or melted, or sent 
away their guineas, it is the most improbable 
thing in the world that all the silver should be 
gone too. Such a quantity of silver would be a 
little troublesome to carry about, to be sure; but 
that would be better than such a stoppage of 
business as you are all complaining of from a 
want of money.” 

The shopkeeper supposed that either there 
was not silver enough, or that it cost too much 
to coin it, or something. 

“ I should have thought you had understood 
your own affairs better, - ’said a voice from behind, 
which was at once known to be Mr. Graig’s and 
he came forward smiling to join in the conversa- 
tion. ‘‘ Where could you have been in 1816,” 
he said, addressing the shopkeeper, ‘‘not to 
know that silver is a legal tender only to the 
amount of forty shillings.^ If you, Mrs. Morri- 
son, had bought three pounds worth of shirting 
here, your friend behind the counter might insist 
on your paying one pound out of the three in 
gold. You cannot lawfully pay more than two 
pounds in silver; and it is only by mutual con- 
sent that a larger payment is ever made in that 
kind of money,” 


46 


THE wife’s holiday. 


The shopkeeper looked as if this was news to 
him. Hester thought it a very absurd and un- 
just thing for the law to interfere with the kind 
of money in which people pay their neighbours 
What objection in the world could there be to 
people using both gold and silver money to any 
amount that they chose to trouble themselves 
to carry? 

“ The experiment has been tried,” said Mr* 
Craig, ‘‘ in many countries, and for long periods, 
and it does not answer; and therefore the law 
steps in to declare that gold shall be the only 
legal tender for any sum exceeding forty shil- 
lings. You know it is necessary to fix the rela- 
tive value of gold and silver, and to keep to it, 
if both are used as money on equal terms.” 

“And such fixed value does not always agree, 
I suppose, with its natural value. It may some- 
times cost more to obtain gold, and sometimes 
silver; and then it is either impossible or inju- 
rious to make them keep the value originally 
fixed. Is this the reason?” 

“ This is the great objection to a double stan- 
dard. If, from any circumstance, silver became 
more plentiful than it had been, a man would be 
anxious to pay his debts in silver. If he owed 


THE wife’s holiday. 


47 


lOOZ. to his landlord, he would not pay him 100 
sovereigns; he would go and get as much silver 
with his sovereigns as would coin into a hundred 
and ten pounds, and then pay his landlord the 
hundred, and keep the ten. Other people would 
do the same, and we should be deluged with 
silver coin, while the gold went to the melting- 
pot.” 

“And all money would be worth less, from 
there being much more of it, I suppose?” 

“ Yes. There would thus be the two incon- 
veniences of a needless fluctuation in the value 
of the currency, and of a new coinage being 
necessary as often as the one metal may be more 
easy to be had than the other.” 

“Yes. If gold were the more plentiful of the 
two, people would be just as anxious to pay their 
debts in gold; and then the silver coin would 
disappear.” 

“ Certainly. Now, why should we expose 
ourselves to these inconveniences of a double 
standard, when a single one does quite as well, 
except for small payments?” 

“ But why may we tender so much as forty 
shillings in silver? Why more than twenty?” 

“ Because it is not worth any body’s while, 


48 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


for the sake of the profit on payments of forty 
shillings, to coin more silver than the market 
will bear. 'Up to this amount, and not beyond 
it, we can reconcile the advantage of a variety 
of money with the safety of a single standard. 
Surely it is the simplest way to fix one standard, 
that is, to order what shall be the legal fineness 
and weight of coin of one metal, and to leave 
other kinds to the natural variations which they 
Cannot be prevented from sharing with all com- 
modities.” 

“ Why is gold made the standard ? It cannot 
well be divided into money so small as shillings 
and sixpences; and surely, it would be better to 
have the legal tender uniform, instead of gold 
down to two pounds, and then silver. For that 
matter, copper would be better still, if it were 
not so heavy and bulky.” 

“There are different opinions among wise 
men as to which of the two superior metals 
should be the standard. Nobody, I believe, 
wishes for copper.” 

“ But copper is a legal tender, I suppose, up 
to a shilling; or perhaps beyond it, as silver is 
to more than a pound.” 

“ Copper is a legal tender to the amount of 
fifteen shillings ” 


THE wife’s HOLIDAY. 


49 


“ Well; I am sure that is enough. Nobody 
would wish for more. But why should we not 
have the easiest kind of legal tender of all, — 
paper money of all values? A note for a penny 
and a note for 100,000/. would be equally con- 
venient; and both more so than any coin what- 
ever.” 

It was presently pointed out that paper-money 
being, in fact, circulating credit, and not a com- 
modity, could not be made a standard, though it 
may represent a standard, and be used as its 
substitute. Bank-notes might, Mr. Craig ob- 
served, be made a legal tender, if so strictly con- 
vertible that their value should never vary from 
that of the metal they represent. No means had 
yet been found to make such an identity of val- 
ue permanent ; and while any variation existed, 
all dealers in money would be exposed to the 
evils of a double standard. He supposed the 
country had had enough of the legal tender of 
an inconvertible paper currency. 

“ Has paper then ever been made a legal 
tender in this country?” 

“It was rendered so to all practical purposes, 
— though not under the very terms, — by the 
Restriction Act. Bank of England notes were 

VoL. IL— D 


50 


THE wife’s holiday. 


received as cash in all government transactions, 
and by almost all individuals after the crisis of 
1797. The effect upon the country was much 
the same as if they had been avowedly legal 
tender; and it is thought that not one man in 
twenty was aware of their being any thing else.” 

‘‘Nor is, to this day, ’’observed the shopkeeper. 
“ Every man in this town who holds Bank of 
England notes would be confounded if you told 
him that his creditors are no more obliged to be 
satisfied with payment in those notes than in 
Cavendish’s rotten rags. Would you have them 
no longer a good tender for practical purposes, 
when the Bank returns to cash payments.^” 

“ I think one kind of paper might be legal 
tender for another. Country bank-notes being 
made convertible into Bank of England notes 
instead of coin, might, as it seems to me, be a 
very good thing for all parties, (if the Bank is 
to continue to hold its present station and privi- 
leges,) — provided, of course, that this Bank of 
England paper is strictly convertible into the 
precious metals.” 

“ But would not that be hard upon the Bank 
of England? Should the Bank be thus made 
answerable for the issues of the country banks?’ 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


51 


“ Nay; the hardship is under the present sys- 
tem; for, according to it, the Bank of England 
is made answerable, without having any of that 
power of control which it would have under the 
other system. We know that country bankers 
do not keep much coin in their coffers. As soon 
as a panic arises, they pledge or sell their gov- 
ernment stock, and carry the notes they receive 
for it to be changed for gold at the Bank to answer 
the demands of their country customers. Thus 
the Bank is liable to a drain at any moment, 
without further limit than the stock held by all 
the country banker^. N ow, as it need not issue 
more paper than it can convert on demand, it is 
not answerable for any proceedings of the coun- 
try bankers, and holds a direct check over the 
issues of all who are not careless of their credit.” 

Hester had heard her husband tell how hard 
the Mint was worked during the panic, three 
years before. Demands for gold came in from 
the country so fast, that, though all the presses 
were at work, night and day, they could scarcely 
turn out -coin enough to keep up the credit of 
the Bank: and the stock of bullion in the cof- 
fers got terribly low. At least, so it was sus- 
pected by the people at the Mint. How much 


52 


THE wife’s holiday. 


of this outcry for gold did Mr. Craig think would 
be superseded by the customers of country banks 
being referred to the Bank of England for 
metal money, instead of having it of their own 
bankers? 

‘‘As much,” replied Mr. Craig, “as the Bank 
may choose. It can proportion its issues to 
country bankers as it likes. But, in case of the 
adoption of this plan, it will be necessary that 
branch banks should be established by the Bank 
of England in all populous districts, so that the 
people may have every facility for converting 
their notes. Much less business would be done, 
much less confidence would exist, if there were 
delays and difficulties of any kind in converting 
notes which are convertible at all.” 

“ It is, then, only to prevent drains on the 
Bank of England coffers, and their consequen- 
ces, that you would make its notes a legal ten- 
der for country paper? It seems to me odd, — 
likely to make confusion, — to have the same 
money, — the identical notes, legal tender in one 
sense and not in another.” 

“ If any other method of obviating such a 
drain can be found which involves less incon- 
venience, let it be so; but this peril of a drain 


THE wife’s holiday. 


53 


is so fearful that it would be worth trying a few 
experiments to be rid of it. If means could also 
be devised for permanently rendering paper the 
precise representative of gold, Bank of England 
notes might become a uniformly legal tender.” 

Hester supposed that to alter the value of the 
standard would be the worst measure of all.; as 
its very name conveyed that it ought to be un- 
changeable. That which is used to measure the 
values of all other things cannot have its own 
value changed without making confusion among 
all the rest. Mr. Craig replied that the neces- 
sity of changing tlTe value of a standard was 
the great objection, as they had just agreed, to 
the use of a double standard, one or other part 
of which must be changed from time to time to 
make them perfectly equal. He went on, 

‘‘ The most fatal blow that the government of 
a commercial nation can inflict upon the people 
is to alter the standard ; — whether by changing 
the denominations of money, or by mixing more 
alloy with the precious metal of the coins, or by 
issuing them, not less pure, but smaller. Of 
these three ways, the first is the most barefaced, 
and therefore the least mischievous in deceiving 
those who are injured; but the consequences of 


54 


THE wife’s holiday 


all in raising prices, in vitiating contracts in in- 
troducing injustice into every unfinished act of 
exchange, and confusion into every new one, and 
consequently in overthrowing commercial credit, 
are alike fatal in all times, and under all circum- 
stances.” 

“ And yet many governments have tried the 
experiment, after watching the effects upon their 
neighbours.” 

“ Yes. Each hopes to avoid the retribution 
which has overtaken the others: but, if they were 
wise, they would see why such retribution was 
inevitable. They would see that the temporary 
saving of their gold would soon be dearly paid 
for by the increased prices of whatever the gov- 
ernment has to buy; and that if they would 
meet this evil by an increase of taxation, their 
design must be baffled by the impoverishment of 
the people. They would prepare themselves to 
behold in every corner of the land, profligate 
debtors exulting in their advantage over their 
frugal and laborious creditors, the aged servants 
of society stripped of the proceeds of their hoard- 
ed labour, the young brought up to witness the 
violable quality of public faith, and distrust of 
the government and of each other striking deep 
root into the heart of every class.” 


THE wife’s holiday. 


56 


Our government will, surely, never try such 
an experiment?” 

“ We are now, you know, suffering under the 
effects of such an one. When the Restriction 
Act passed, nobody said anything about this 
measure being, in fact, an alteration of the stan- 
dard; but as inconvertible bank-notes are prac- 
tically a legal tender, and as their value depends 
on the price of bullion and on the extent to 
which they are issued, these circumstances keep 
the standard, in fact, in a state of perpetual va- 
riation, instead of its being preserved invariable 
by law, as it pretends to be.” 

‘‘ So, then, my mother suffered from a varia- 
tion in the standard when her pension was swal- 
lowed up by high prices; and farmer Martin 
is injured in the same way by an opposite change 
in the standard.” 

‘‘ And you, Mrs. Morrison,” said the shop- 
keeper, profit by the same thing; for, I assure 
you, I must have obliged you to change one 
more note at least for that parcel of shirting, 
three years ago.” 

‘‘ Is it possible,” asked Hester, for the value 
of money to remain the same from one century 
to another? — O no; it certainly cannot; so 


56 


THE wife’s holiday. 


many new mines as will be, discovered; and so 
much difference as there will be, as the arts 
improve, in the cost of producing the precious 
metals, and all other commodities. The value 
of metal money will gradually decline on the 
whole, I should think.’' 

“ Very likely.” 

‘ ‘ Then what will become of creditors ? How 
are they to have their rights?” 

“ The equitable right of a creditor is only to 
the quantity of gold for which he contracted. 
If he is paid in less than this quantity, through 
any arbitrary interference, he is injured; but he 
must take the chance of any natural variation 
between the value of gold and other commodi- 
ties. No law need pretend, or could avail, to fix 
this relative value, which depends on causes over 
which laws have no control. If a man enters 
into a long contract, he should take into his 
estimate the probability of money being worth 
less at the end than at the beginning of his bar- 
gain, if he satisfies himself that the value of 
money does, on the whole, deteriorate: and if he 
neglects to do this, he alone is to blame for his 
loss; for this is not a matter for government to 
charge itself with. If it ensures him his quan- 
tity, it has done its duty.” 


THE wife’s HOLIDAY. 57 

The shopkeeper looked round his shop witho 
sigh, and wished that, when he entered upon his 
lease, and filled his shelves, he had had no fur- 
ther loss to guard against than the natural de- 
cline of money. He had suffered, and was suf- 
fering from the present reverse tendency of 
money. He had bought his linens and flannels, 
his gloves, hose, and ribbons dear, and was now 
obliged to sell them cheap, while his rent was, 
though nominally the same, very much raised in 
fact. He was less grieved for himself, and such 
as himself, however, than for families like a cer- 
tain one in the neighbourhood, which, through 
fluctuations in the currency, was reduced, with- 
out any fault, to a situation so far below what it 
ought to hold. He understood that though the 

I) bank was likely to pay every shilling in 

time, it might have done so directly, but that the 
debts which were contracted in one state of the 
currency must be paid in another, while the pro- 
perty in which partners had invested their 
capital had fallen in value, in proportion to the 
rise of money. It was too hard that the very 
crisis which destroyed their credit should have 
at the same time almost doubled their debts, and 
depreciated their property. He wished to know 


58 


THE wife’s holiday. 


whether it was true, if Mr. Craig had no objec- 
tion to tell him, that there was money owing to 
Mr. Berkeley from abroad — a debt which no- 
body had thought of recovering till lately, and 
which Mr. Horace was going into a foreign 
country to look after ? Mr. Craig believed that 
there was some truth in what was said about the 
debt; but none in the report of Horace’s stirring 
in the matter. He then asked for what he came 
into the shop in search of; a pair of gloves; and 
was furnished with some at what was mourn- 
fully declared to be considerably under prime 
cost. 

Hester at the same time concluded her long 
task of shopping, and went to pay her respects 
to Mrs. Berkeley. She felt very full of wrath 
at all tamperers with the currency as she open- 
ed the little green gate, and mounted the single 
step at the door, and lifted the slender stiff 
knocker, and cast a glance over the red front of 
the house, as she was waiting for admission. 
All these things were in sad contrast to the ap- 
proach to their former abode. 

As she was shown in, she felt how much more 
she had been at her ease in old days, when, in 
visiting them she found herself in the midst of 


THE WlFE^S HOLIDAY* 


59 


unaccustomed luxuries, than now, when their 
abode was a good deal like her mother’s. She 
scarcely knew how to be respectful enough to 
Mr. Berkeley when she saw him doing many 
things for himself that he had been used to have 
done for him, and when she heard of his per- 
forming his own little errands in the town, where 
his servant had of old been daily seen going to 
and fro for his bustling master. It was affecting 
to see Mrs. Berkeley reviving her knowledge 
and practice of many things which her condition 
of affluence had rendered it unnecessary for her 
to attend to for many years past. 

She made no hardship of these things She 
cheerfully said that she should want employment 
in the absence of her daughters if she had not 
to attend to her household affairs. Mr. Berke- 
ley was very exact about the matters of the ta- 
ble, and Mrs. Berkeley did again what she had 
done in her youth; — she made such hashes and 
ragouts and fancy dishes of various kinds, as no 
cook she had ever had could pretend to. She 
kept her work basket at her elbow almost as con- 
stantly as Mrs. Parndon herself; and with Lewis 
for a helper, made the most of the shallow poor 
soil in their little garden, undeterred by recol- 


60 


THE wife’s holiday. 


lections of the beloved green-house and the 
flourishing rosary of her late abode. She was 
encouraged in this by finding that Mr. Berke- 
ley did not dislike her roses, though they came 
out of a garden next the road, instead of his fa- 
vourite nook. 

He now, on seeing Hester in the parlour, 
came up to the window with a bunch of roses in 
one hand and the newspaper in the other. He 
brought news that the pyrus japonica looked 
drooping, and that a company of ants had found 
their way to the apricot at the back of the house. 
There must be an end to them, or there would 
be an end to the apricots for this year. 

“You have found nothing so important to us 
as that in the newspaper, I dare say,” observed 
his wife. 

Mr. Berkeley threw the paper in at the win- 
dow, peevishly declaring that there was nothing 
in newspapers worth reading now-a-days. He 
forgot that he did not think so at noon-time 
every day, when he was apt to swear at the 
offender who happened to be five minutes past 
the time of bringing the paper. 

“ There is one piece of news, by the by,” 
said he, “ unless you have heard it already from 
Craig. Longe is married.” 


THE wife’s holiday. 


61 


“ Indeed! To Miss Egg?” 

‘‘ No, no. Too good a match for him by half. 
A fellow who begins looking about him so im- 
pudently as he did, is sure to finish with marry- 
ing his cook.” 

“ His cook! What, the servant that went 
from the Cavendishes. It never can be, surely ?” 

Nay; I do not know whose cook she is, or 
whether any body’s cook. I only know that 
such is the way such fellows pair themselves at 
last.” 

Hester was wondering what fellows; — rec- 
tors, or Cavendishes’ cousins. — Mrs. Berkeley 
remarked, that she should wish to think well of 
the rector’s lady for Henry Craig’s sake. The 
curate should never be the worse off for the 
marriage of his rector. 

“ The curate’s wife, you mean, my dear. 
You are looking forward to little presents of 
tithe pigs and apples, and an occasional phea- 
sant. But, mind you, I will never touch a 
pheasant that comes out of Longe’s house. I 
had rather be in the way of his gun myself” 

Hester took this as a permission to speak of 
Melea’s prospects, — happy prospects as she 
called them. 


62 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


‘‘ The young people talk of some such thing,” 
said Mr. Berkeley, carelessly. “Young people 
always do, you know. But it is nonsense talk 
ing. Craig is as poor as a rat, and Melea will 
be long enough earning her wedding clothes.” 
And he began hoeing up very diligently the 
weeds that were just visible in the border below 
the window. While he was not looking, Mrs. 
Berkeley held up with a smile the work she was 
doing. Hester had before observed that the 
work basket was piled very high. 

“ Is this for Miss Melea.^” she delightedly 
enquired. Mrs. Berkeley nodded assent, and 
then gave the cautionary explanation that this 
was no sign that Melea was to be married soon, 
but only that a wedding wardrobe was not so 
very difficult to earn. She had pleasure in do- 
ing this work; it seemed to hasten the time 
when she and Mr. Berkeley should have a 
daughter near them once more. 

Before they had time to pursue the topic 
Mr. Berkeley came in, complaining of the heat. 
The first thing he did was to pick up the news- 
paper he had thrown away, fix himself in his 
reading light, give the paper the pat which was 
necessary to stiffen it in its full length, and mut- 


THE wife’s holiday. 


63 


ter over it, as much at his ease as if nobody wa^ 
by. Amidst the mutterings and occasional in- 
terjections, the other two carried on their con- 
versation in an under tone. It was all about 
the curate, and the curate’s house, and the cu- 
rate’s small accession of income, and large ac- 
cession of pupils, which was as much for the ad- 
vantage of Lewis in the way of companionship, 
as for Melea’s, in a different way. At the close 
of a very cheerful picture of what was to be, 
Hester looked up and saw Mr. Berkeley still in 
reading posture, but looking over his spectacles 
at his wife, and evidently listening to what was 
passing. As soon as he saw himself observed, 
he said, ‘‘ Go on, my dear, pray. There is no- 
body here to be taken in by a fancy picture, — 
no novices that think people are all born to be 
married, and nothing else. Mrs. Morrison 
knows by this time that this is too cold a world 
for love to warm every corner of it. She 
knows — ” 

“ I wonder you can be so unjust to Henry,” 
cried Mrs. Berkeley, who saw that Hester did 
not altogether relish the appeal made to her. 
“You know very well that if Melea’s engage* 
ment was at an end to-day, you would wander 


04 


THE WIFE S HOLIDAY. 


about the house like a ghost, and find that the 
world had grown much colder all in a moment.’ 

‘‘ When did I ever say a word against Craig, 
pray; — at least, for more than three years. 
What I mean is, that the less people connect 
themselves, in such days as these, the better 
for them. That is the only way to slip through 
the world quietly, and to get out of it without 
having one’s heart and soul torn to pieces be- 
fore one’s breath is out of one’s body.” 

‘Wou would not have daughters. Sir,” Hes- 
ter ventured to say. You had rather be living 
all alone, with only your physician to feel your 
pulse when you die.” 

“ Mr. Berkeley’s daughters and Mr. Berke- 
ley’s wife are not like any other wife and 
daughters,” said Mrs. Berkeley, smiling; ‘‘and 
Horace is also unique. Mr. Berkeley’s doc- 
trine is only generally applicable, you know; 
so we need not be offended.” 

“ I never choose to be personal,” observed 
Mr. Berkeley. “I point out nobody’s wife and 
children as the proper ones not to exist. I only 
mean that it must be a heavenly thing to have 
only one’s self to care for.” 

“ I will believe it, my dear, when I find you 
in heaven, caring only for yourself.” 


THE wife’s holiday. 


65 


I only speak to what I know,” replied Mr. 
Berkeley; ‘‘ and, depend upon it, half the soft- 
hearted people that Craig and Melea are imita- 
ting, would he glad to shake off theii'-vows and 
their cares together.” 

Hester hore his enquiring look very well; for 
she still loved Edgar. She smiled, and hoped 
that these were not the notions Melea was to be 
entertained with when she came home to be 
married. 

‘‘ I say what I think, let who will be by,” re- 
plied Mr. Berkeley. But it does not signify 
whether I hold my tongue or speak. We are 
all made romantic when we are young, that we 
may be broken down with cares, in time to 
make room for others to go the same round. 1 
and my children, like everybody else. — My 
dear, do send some one to destroy that ant’s 
nest. They are eating the apricots all this 
time. — Stay. I’ll do it myself.” 

In another minute, he was busy with the ants, 
and Hester was left at liberty to hope that Me- 
lea might by some chance, be happy, notwith- 
standing the romance of loving Henry Craig. 

Fanny was, she found, pronounced much 

wiser, and more likely to die a natural death, as 

VoL. II.— E 


66 


THE wife’s holiday. 


she was not going to be married. It was very 
true that she, had at present few cares, though 
she had not yet seriously taken her father’s ad- 
vice to care for nobody but herself. She bestow- 
ed some little thought and feeling on her pupils, 
and on her family. What romance she had 
tended that way ; but as it afforded no threaten- 
ing of ultimately breaking her down with soli- 
citude, her father acquiesced in her cheerful 
looks and even spirits, and thought this kind of 
romance very harmless. 

These facts being fully ascertained, Hester 
took her leave before the last hapless insect had 
been hunted from its retreat in the shadow of 
an apricot leaf Soon after she was gone, Mrs. 
Berkeley missed the apex of the pyramid of 
which her work basket formed the base. It 
was clear that Hester intended that the bride’s 
wardrobe should be graced with some of her 
handy work. She had, indeed, carried off 
enough to employ her needle for as long a time 
as Edgar was likely to allow her to stay. When 
Mrs. Berkely sent tobeg that she would not con- 
sume her short leisure in an employment that she 
must have quite enough of at home, she replied 
that it was a most refreshing rest to her to sit 


SUSPICION. 


67 


at work by the open window, in the long sum- 
mer afternoons, enjoying the smell of the sweet- 
williams in the court, and the striking of the old 
clock, and hearing from her mother and the 
neighbors long stories of all that had happened 
in Haleham since her wedding-day. 


CHAPTER III. 

SUSPICION. 

Edgar did not send for his wife at the end of 
a week, as she had expected. Mrs. Parndon 
was much pleased at this. The first Sunday had 
been so wet that it would have been a pity for 
Hester to risk spoiling her new silk, and a still 
greater pity to have gone back to London with- 
out appearing at church in it. It was earnestly 
to be desired that she should stay over a second 
Sunday. Happily she did so; and yet more to 
her astonishment, over a third. There was no- 
thing to make her uneasy in this extention of 
indulgence. Her husband wrote to her, kindly, 
and often enough to satisfy her mother, and the 


68 


SUSPICION. 


enquirers at the post-office, who thought they 
might contrive, by a little watching and wait- 
ing, thus to learn more of Hester’s domestic 
position than they could well ascertain by any 
questions they could put to her mother or her- 
self. 

As Mrs. Morrison recovered her bloom and 
spirits, day by day, it was a settled matter that 
her paleness, thinness, and odd, startled look, 
(so unlike any thing that used to be seen in her 
face) were all owing to the heats of a London 
summer, and that she was indeed the fortunate 
person she had been described by all mothers 
to their daughters for these three years. Hes- 
ter herself bestowed as little thought as she 
could on this question while at liberty to enjoy 
air and freedom. She ran in the meadows as 
if she had been still a girl; played ducks and 
drakes on the Martins’ pond, and tripped along 
the street with a step which her mother thought 
not dignified enough for Mrs. Edgar Morrison. 

Forgetting this hint, she was quickly passing 
Enoch’s door one day, when she saw a finger, 
which from its length could not be mistaken, 
beckoning between two of the books in the win- 
dow. She went in, and there was Mr. Pye 


SUSPICION. 


69 


alone, saying several times over that he wished 
to speak with her, that he had a trifling thing 
to mention, a little matter to say between them- 
selves. He declared himself very scrupulous, 
but knew she would be angry if he passed the 
thing over. What could be the matter.^ Had 
she, or anybody belonging to her, done any- 
thing to offend Mr. Pye? — Bless her! no. How 
would that be possible? He was only afraid of 
the offence being the other way. When com- 
pelled to explain, he said he did it directly, be- 
cause he supposed, he trusted, he should be 
saving her from a loss. Could she remember 
where she took the \l. note she had paid him 
with? He hoped it was not too late to get it 
changed; for it was certainly a bad one. 

Indeed! O yes, she remembered perfectly. 

It was given her by . She stopped short in 

a fit of prudence, for which she could afterwards 
hardly account. No. She would not answer 
for anything about it, till she had looked over 
her stock at home. She would just step home 
and bring another directly. Mr. Pye was quite 
right in supposing that she would have been 
angry if he had scrupled to mention it. It was 
much better to settle those little mistakes aJ‘; 


70 


SUSPICION. 


once, sii ce they do rest on the mind for a long 
time. — Just as she was leaving the shop, in the 
midst of Enoch’s assurances that there was no 
hurry, and that he could not allow her to go 
home on purpose, she turned back to ask for 
the note, saying that she had always had a 
great curiosity to see a forged note; and that 
she never felt herself safe in taking notes, from 
her ignorance of the proper marks. 

Mr. Pye liked giving lessons; and he set 
about his task on the present occasion in a most 
orderly manner. Happily, he first made Hestei 
sit down; and next, he fortunately took such 
pains to rub and fix his spectacles, as to have no 
attention to spare for her face. He then un- 
locked his desk, and brought out an honest 
Bank of England note: then double-unlocked 
an inner recess, from which issued the offending 
one. Both were spread before Hester, and 
she was told to compare them, and try whether 
she could discover any difference. 

She could perceive none. The leading marks 
of each were alike; and Hester thought they 
were such as any engraver might imitate. It 
appeared to her to signify little, that there were 
private marks, and water-marks which were less 


SUSPICION. 


71 


easy to imitate than the engraved parts. These 
might enable the Bank to know its own notes: 
but were of no use to the generality of people 
to whom it is of consequence to distinguish a 
good note from a bad one. 

‘‘You see,” said Enoch, holding the notes 
up to the light. “ That water-mark, you ob- 
serve, is very different from this; and the finish 
of that word, you perceive, is not imitated well 
in the forgery.” 

“ I see, now you point it out: but I should 
never have discovered it. Surely, people in 
general, shopmen and servants, and market 
people, do not know these signs as you do.” 

Enoch complacently answered that very few 
had so practised an eye as his. 

“ But that is very wrong, surely.^” observed 
Hester. “ It must be possible to form notes of 
such a kind of engraving as would be too difh- 
cult to make it worth while to forge; of such a 
kind too as would strike the eye at once, so that 
even those who cannot read may learn to know 
a good note. What can look easier than to imi- 
tate such a note as this ? The very sight of it is 
enough to tempt people to forge.” 

Enoch observed that it was very true, and 


72 


SUSPICION. 


that it was proved by the dreadful increase of 
convictions on account of the crime of forgery. 
In the year of the Restriction Act, there was 
only one conviction; the number increased as 
bank notes became more important as a medium 
of exchange; and, in the preceding year, there 
had been no less than two hundred and twenty- 
seven; sixty-two of which had been capital con- 
victions for the actual commission of the crime, 
and the others for having had forged notes in 
possession. 

Hester’s deep but checked sigh attracted 
Enoch’s attention. 

‘‘Ah! you are sighing for the convictions 
that are yet to come. But, my dear, they are 
clever fellows who made this note; and they 
will keep out of harm’s way for some time to 
come, depend upon it. It is a very superior ar- 
ticle indeed; not got up by one or two in a snug 
way, but regularly manufactured in a business- 
like manner. I should not wonder if they keep 
themselves safe till the Bank calls in its one and 
two pound notes, and puts an end to their trade. 
I see there is talk of abolishing the small note 
circulation.” 

“ I am glad of it, I am sure. The sooner the 
better ” 


SUSPICION. 


73 


“ Well, now, I do not agree with you there. 
We shall lose a great convenience in losing these 
notes. O, I do not mean for a moment to say 
that it is worth having sixty men hanged in a 
year for the sake of it. God forbid! But there 
might be means found of preventing so much 
forgery. There might be an end of temptation 
to novices to forge ; and as for those who have 
learned the trade already, they will not injure 
society long.’’ 

“You mean that they will grow honest again 
when the temptation is removed.” 

Enoch shook his head, and wished he could 
truly say that this was what he meant. He 
meant that people employed in such practices 
rarely quit them till they have brought punish- 
ment upon themselves. However sorry we may 
be for the carelessness and bad management by 
which temptation was at first made too strong 
for them, however we pity them, and make al- 
lowance for their first acts, we may be pretty 
sure that they will end by falling into the hands 
of the law. Hester might well sigh for the 
makers of this note; for though new bank regu- 
lations should knock up their paper manufac- 
ture they would turn to something else as bad 


74 


SUSPICION. 


— forging bills of exchange, or stealing and pass- 
ing them in a business-like way, or perhaps coin- 
ing. Having once been used to get a great deal 
of money by dishonest means, they would not be 
satisfied with the little they could obtain by 
honest industry. 

Hester, not wishing for more speculation of 
this kind, rose to go; and with some difficulty, 
got leave to carry away the bad note, in order, 
as she truly said, to study her lesson more care- 
fully at home. Enoch charged her to bring it 
back again; but to this she made no reply. 

She just returned to say. 

Do not let us mention this to my mother. 
Tt will vex her to think of my having lost a 
pound in such a way ; and I am not at all sure 
that I can get the note changed.” 

Enoch was quite willing to be silent. Not 
having made up his mind himself as to whether 
he ought to have put up with the loss in quiet 
for the sake of an old friend, he was well content 
that Mrs. Parndon should not have the opportu- 
nity of blaming him. 

Hester hurried home, and into her own cham- 
ber, bolting the door after her. At every step 
on the way, some new circumstance occurred tc 


SUSPICION. 


75 


her recollection, confirming the horrible sus- 
picion which had entered her mind. Edgar’s 
sudden and strange command of money, his un- 
wonted kindness and liberality, his preventing 
her sending one of these notes to the coach 
office in payment for her place, his anxiety that 
she should lay out the whole in a distant country 
town for goods which could be better bought in 
the street they lived in, — all these circumstances 
seemed to be explained only too satisfactorily if 
the new notion she had in her head were true. 
In a paroxysm of resolution she proceeded to 
put it to the proof, looking about before she un- 
locked her money-drawer, to make sure that no 
one could see from any corner of the window, 
or from the key-hole, what she was about to do. 
Hester was not, however, very strong-minded. 
The first sight of the thin paper made her heart- 
sick. She thrust the bad note into the opposite 
corner of the drawer, and locked it up, feeling 
that for this one day she preferred suspense to 
certainty. Enoch must be paid. That was 
something to do. She would run and pay him 
directly, if she had but silver enough. She be- 
gan counting her silver; in the midst of which 
operation, some one was heard trying at the 


76 


SUSPICION. 


door, and was answered by a long scream from 
within. 

“ Mercy on us ! what’s the matter?” cried the 
widow. 

Nothing: why nothing, mother,” said Hes- 
ter, opening the door, “ only you startled me, 
that’s all, mother.” 

Startled you indeed! Why, you are shaking 
all over, child. What could you be doing? 1 
came just to darn that hole in your window cur- 
tain while you were out, for I thought you were 
gone to the Martins an hour ago. What could 
you be doing, my dear?” 

I was looking out some change. I want 
some change. Can you lend me half a crown? 
No: five shillings I w^ant. No, no, four will do. 
Can you lend me four shillings?” 

‘‘Indeed I cannot,” replied her mother, 
laughing. “ With all your stock of money, you 
can get change from every shop in the town, 
and I like the appearance of your sending for it. 
Nanny shall step to the baker’s in a minute. 
Give me a note, and I will send her.” 

Hester went into the kitchen, apparently to 
save her mother the trouble; but it was to bor- 
row four shillings of Nanny, instead of sending 
her to the baker’s for twenty. 


SUSPICION. 


77 


Enoch was jocose upon her paying him in 
silver lest she should make the same mistake 
again, though the chances were a thousand to 
one against another bad note falling in her way 
while the small note circulation lasted. 

It was a beautiful day, as fresh as mild, and 
the country was in the perfection of its summer 
beauty. In order to avoid going home, Hester 
proceeded to the Martins, and staid till the 
latest moment she could without keeping Her 
mother waiting for dinner. The summer wind 
blew away half her cares before she reached the 
farm ; and by the time she left it, she pronounced 
herself the silliest person in the world for hav- 
ing taken up such a wild fancy as had terrified 
her this morning. 

Rhoda had not yet left her father’s house, nor 
was likely to do so at present. Her lover 
had employment, but^ had not yet nearly rer 
paired the losses which Cavendish’s villany had 
caused him, and Martin was not now so well 
able as formerly to enter in engagements to 
assist his daughter. His rent pressed heavily, 
now that prices had fallen so much; and the 
young people must wait. This sentence fell 
irritatingly upon Rhoda’s ear, month after month 


78 


SUSPICION. 


— every Saturday night, when the farmer and 
his wife ascertained how much or how little was 
ready to go into the rent-purse, and every Sun- 
day when Chapman brought her home from a 
long ramble in the lanes, whose turns and wind- 
ings had lost the charms they possessed for her 
when she began to follow them in his company, 
four years ago. She should not have minded, 
she told Hester, if she had known from the be- 
ginning that they must wait five years: it was 
the disappointment, the suspense, that was so 
cruel; and she sometimes wished that they had 
married on Cavendish’s coming. They could 
but have been ruined by the failure, like many 
other people; her little legacy would have been 
safe in the shape of furniture; and they could not 
well have been more anxious than they were now. 
Hester eagerly took up Mr. Berkeley’s argu- 
ment on these occasions, and tried very persever- 
ingly to persuade Rhodathat she and Chapman 
were comfortably free from care, and that they 
ought to be very glad that they were not marri- 
ed yet. Rhoda was equally sure that Hester 
could have no cares; how should she, with a 
husband so fond of her that he could not part 
with her oftener than once in four years, and 


SUSPICION. 


in possession of a good salaried office, and with 
no children to provide for, and all so comforta- 
ble about her, — to judge from her dress, and the 
money she had spent at Haleham? 

Thus these two school companions went forth 
this morning, arm in arm, to look after some 
farm-house pet that had strayed out upon the 
heath. Each was old in cares though young in 
years, and each fully persuaded that the other 
must be easy and gay at heart, in comparison 
with herself — Mrs. Martin looked after them 
from the door of the dairy, as they took their 
way from the shady nook in which she stood 
through the orchard, and out upon the heath 
behind. She shook her head as she watched 
them, and thought to herself that theirs was not 
the step with which she went about her work 
and her pleasures at their age. There was lit- 
tle of girlhood remaining in the heavy gait and 
absent air with which they walked. There was 
something wrong in the state of things which 
took from life the ease and graces of its piime. 
It was a pity that Mrs. Martin was not within 
sight of the young women half an hour after- 
wards, when the summer wind had refreshed 
their spirits, and made old merry thoughts chase 


BO 


SUSPICION. 


one another over their minds like the wrinkles 
on the surface of the blue pond which lay open 
^.o the breeze. If she had seen them running 
round the brink to drive the waddling ducks in- 
to the water, or watching the sand-martins to 
their holes, or cherishing the rich brown hairy 
caterpillar that Hester had nearly trodden upon, 
or forgetting what they came for in counting 
how many little orange butterflies were perch- 
ed at once upon the same gorse bush, she would 
have been satisfied that to be turned loose upon 
the heath in a west wind is a certain cure for 
the cares of the heart. Rhoda had the impres- 
sion of being still a school-girl all the while; 
and Hester forgot her suspicion for as much as 
ten minutes at a time; and when she remember- 
ed it again, thought it too absurd to be dwelt 
upon any more. As if nobody had ever chanc- 
ed to take a bad note before! As if it was not 
very likely that in so large a parcel as Edgar 
had given her, there might be one bad among 
many good! and at the cheering idea, she gave 
a new bound upon the turf, and began another 
race with the butterflies. The two mothers 
were pleased with the aspect of their respective 
daughters on their return; Rhoda with her hair 


SUSPICION. 


81 


blown about her glowing face, and Hester with 
an arm full of wild flowers, gathered partly from 
heath, and partly from the hedges and ditches 
she had skirted on her way home. 

Mrs. Parndon smilingly held up a letter: but 
Hester did not snatch it as usual. She receiv- 
ed it with an absent look, and carried it into her 
chamber without first breaking the seal. In a 
moment she was heard saying, 

‘‘ Don’t put off dinner, mother. I will just 
take otfmy bonnet, and read my letter after-- 
wards; and I have kept you waiting already.” 
And she actually sat down to dinner without 
having opened her letter. The sight of the 
hand had revived all her painful feelings, and 
had put it into her head that if she remained un- 
satisfied about the notes, and if her husband 
should strangely give her further leave of ab- 
sence, she should go back at once, and have an 
end put to her suspense. 

The letter was short. Edgar was glad she 
was enjoying herself in the country; believed 
the weather had been very fine and seasorKible; 
did not see why she should hurry back; was 
not, for his own part, anxious that she should; 
vvas always willing to accommodate; therefore 
VoL. IL— F 


82 


SUSPICION. 


begged she would stay where she was; Philip 
and self quite well; London cursedly dull ; 
everybody looking blank about the times; and 
no wonder. — The west wind did not blow into 
Hester’s chamber; nor, if it had found a way, 
would it now have acted as a cordial. It was 
too late to get rid of her suspicions. There 
was nothing for it but satisfying them. The 
door was again bolted, the blind drawn down, a 
glass of water poured out, and the locked draw- 
er opened. There was first a nervous and has- 
ty comparison of all the notes with the forged 
one; then a more careful examination; then 
the most deliberate and studious one. The re- 
sult of all was the same. The same deficien- 
cies, the same wrong turns were in all the notes. 
All were precisely alike, except that some had 
been more crumpled and dirtied than others; 
and the soil was, she thought, put on artificial- 
ly. — She was resolved to go the next morning, 
and to let it be supposed that her husband had 
recalled her. 

But v/hat to do for money ! She had borrow- 
ed four shillings, and had nothing left but these 
notes. Asking her mother for some was out of 
the question, if she wished to avoid suspicion. 


SUSPICION. 


85 


Leaving this difficulty to be met by some bright 
idea at the moment, she swallowed some cold 
water, and re-appeared with her bonnet on, 
sayings that she was going to bespeak a place in 
the morning’s coach, as she must be at home 
before the next night. 

Mrs. Parndon began reproaching Edgar very 
bitterly for giving such short notice; from 
which, of course, his wife very earnestly de- 
fended him, strong on the secret ground that he 
had given no notice at all. Mrs. Parndon laid 
down the law, notwithstanding, that all husbands 
are alike, all arbitrary, and fond of showing 
what their power is; also that she could not 
spare her daughter even to go so far as the 
coach-office; which errand could be as well dis- 
charged by Nanny; no money being wanted for 
deposit, as the coach merely passed through in- 
stead of starting from Haleham, and there was 
no knowing till it drove up whether there would 
be a place. 

“ Now, my dear, before we are interrupted,” 
said Mrs. Parndon, when Nanny was out of the 
house, “ I have a little business to settle with 
you, which I did not intend to have brought on 
in such a hurry, but for Edgar’s choosing to have 


84 


SUSPICION. 


you at his beck and call in this way. You 
know/’ (in a whisper,) ‘‘ that when gold was 
disappearing some time ago, I laid by some 
guineas.” 

Hester perfectly remembered. They were 
either in the cupboard behind the bed, she be- 
lieved, or buried in the garden. They had been 
in both these hiding places, she knew; but she 
forgot which last. The widow looked wise, and 
said it did not signify where they now were; 
what she wanted to say was this. She had al- 
ways been a cautious woman, having no one to 
advise with but Mr. Pye, whom she could not, 
from motives of delicacy, inform of her having 
money laid by; and she had, she feared, let the 
occasion pass for disposing of her gold to the 
greatest advantage. She should have trusted 
Philip with it some time ago. She had lately, 
however, put the case before Mr. Pye, as from 
a third unknown party, and he was decidedly of 
opinion that there would be no use in hoarding 
gold after the Bank had returned to cash pay- 
ments ; and that if any profit was to be made in 
such a way, it must be before that time. So she 
had made up her mind to trust her daughter with 
her treasure, in order to its reaching Philip’s 


SUSPICION. 


85 


hands; and she should write to him to send her 
as much as could be obtained over and above 
their value as legal coin. It was a sad pity, to 
be sure, that she had not done this long and long 
ago; but lone women are liable to fall into 
grevious mistakes in the management of their 
affairs. It was not enough even to have such a 
friend as Mr. Pye. 

As a friend merely, — Hester supposed in her 
own mind. She was very happy that so lucky 
a chance of getting money for her journey had 
turned up as to prevent her having to use any of 
her doubtful notes. She hurried off with her 
mother to fetch the guineas, resolving to get 
two of them changed at some shop where Mrs. 
Parndon did not deal, and to send out of her 
own earnings what Philip should declare to be 
their true value. 

When the bed-tick had been unripped and 
properly sewn up again, after the guineas had 
been taken out of it, the widow found time and 
thoughts for what her daughter might have to do 
and feel on so sudden a conclusion of her visit. 
Could she do anything for her? pay any little 
bills after she was gone? pack her things this 
afternoon? or go and tell their friends that if 


86 


SUSPICION. 


they wished to bid her good bye they must come 
in after tea? 

Hester accepted the offer of packing, in order 
to be free to go out herself. She talked of step- 
ping to the washer-woman’s, and of getting as 
far as the Berkeleys, to pay her respects, carry 
home the work she had finished, and say how 
sorry she was that she should not see Miss Me- 
lea married, as she had always hoped to do. 

Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Parndon, while 
they were waiting the next morning for the coach 
to drive up, ‘‘I wonder when we shall have you 
amongst us again!” 

Mr. Pye, who was present, saw that Hester’s 
eyes were full of tears, and concluding that hei 
mother had said something pathetic, turned to 
the bright side, as he thought, and expatiated 
on the delight that awaited her that evening in 
reaching her home again, and how Edgar’s re- 
ception of her would more than make up for the 
sadness her Haleham friends caused her by 
their parting grief. 

“You will come to town on business again, 
Mr. Pye? You will be looking in upon me 
some day, I dare say?” 

Mr. Pye was ready to own that London was ' 


THE wife’s return. 


8 -/ 


not to him what it used to appear; or perhaps 
it might be that he was not so fit for London as 
he was. The very walking along Cheapside 
flurried him, and he was nervous about the 
crossings, and people seemed to think him stu- 
pid; whereas he used to be considered tolerably 
apt at whatever business he had to transact. 
Hester understood that this was the irritation 
of infirmity, and said no more about his leaving 
home. Her mother, however, put in her word. 

‘‘ O, Mr. Pye, you will be sure to go, one of 
these days. And you should be very much 
flattered at Mrs. Morrison’s saying anything 
about it. I assure you, she has not invited me.” 

This was the last hint Hester had the pleas- 
ure of hearing before she took her seat, and went 
on her dreary way. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE wife’s return. 

Even the journey was less dreary than the 
arrival. Hester had hoped that Edgar would be 
out, that she might settle herself, and be ready 


88 


THE wife’s return. 


to give him a wife-like greeting on his entrance. 
She trusted much to this for forgiveness for 
having come home without leave and without 
warning. 

The house door was open, and there were 
pails and trestles in the passage, and a strong 
smell of paint. Remorse struck instantly upon 
Hester’s heart. Edgar was making the house 
neat and pretty to surprise her on her return, 
and she was rewarding him with suspicion and 
disappointment. 

For one moment she glanced in thought at 
the possibility of going back as quietly as she 
might, and keeping her trip a secret: but this 
would have been too remarkable a proceeding 
to escape painful remark. She must go on now, 
and make the best of it. 

The first person she met was a foot-boy, w^ho 
said he belonged to the house, but who was a 
stranger to her. It occurred to her that Edgar 
might have removed, and she had perceived 
that a new, stout, oaken-door had been put up 
some feet within the passage; an alteration 
scarcely likely to occur as desirable to a man so 
perpetually absent from home as Edgar, and 
who lived up stairs. The boy, however, declar- 


THE wife’s return. 


88 


ed that his master’s name was Morrison, and 
that he was now in the house, taking his wine 
with a gentleman, after dinner. 

“ Philip, no doubt,” thought Hester, hastily 
dismissing the porter, and running up to the 
dining-room before her courage failed. She was 
not sorry that Philip would be there to act as a 
restraint on their meeting. Edgar’s back was 
towards her as she softly opened the door; and 
as he concluded it could be nobody but the boy. 
he did not dislodge his legs from the chair on 
which they reposed, or cease picking his straw- 
berries. Opposite to him, sitting bolt upright, 
and his little face looking fierce in a pair of huge 
black whiskers, sat Cavendish! His start and 
stare first roused Edgar. 

“What the deuce- ” he began. “Did not 

you get my letter? You must have got my 
letter, bidding you — telling you that you might 
stay longer.” 

“I did; but .... I will tell you all about 
it by and by. I beg your pardon for bursting 
in: but I did not know you had any one with 
you, except Philip. I will go up stairs till you 
are at liberty.” 

“Aye, do.” 


90 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


Before the door was well shut, however, she 
was called back and told that she would scarce- 
ly know her way about the house after all that 
the work-people had been doing. She had bet- 
ter come in and sit down till she could be in- 
structed how to turn herself about in her own 
home. She sat down accordingly by the win- 
dow, thinking it would best please Edgar that 
she should not be in full view of Cavendish’s 
face. When she had been offered wine and 
strawberries, and accepted the latter in consid- 
eration of her burning thirst, the two at the ta- 
ble seemed to have nothing more to say to each 
other. They dropped a few words now and 
then, which each left it to Hester to answer; 
and, in a quarter of an hour, Cavendish rose to 
go. Edgar whispered with him for some time 
outside the door, and then, to his wife’s terror, 
came in and shut it. She could not help fixing 
her eyes upon his, though there was anger in 
his face. 

‘‘You are displeased with me for coming 
home,” said she. “And I dare say it was very 
foolish, and you will think me very unkind: but 
O! Edgar, you cannot think how uneasy I have 
been since yesterday morning! Those bank- 
notes — — ” 


THE wife’s return. 


9i 


‘‘What of them?” asked Edgar, looking 
steadily at her. 

“ Mr. Pye said they were bad: that is, he 
said that one of them was bad — - — ” 

Edgar laughed violently. “ So you have 
taken a journey ” 

“ I know what you will say I know ^ 

how easy it is to make a laugh of it,” said Hes- 
ter, sinking into tears: “but Mr. Pye showed 
me, Edgar!” and she put a strong momen- 

tary control upon her convulsive sobs, “Edgar, 
they are all bad, — all that I have left.” 

And who gave you leave to show off your 
money to Mr. Pye, or Mr. Any-body ? A pret- 
ty scrape you have brought me into!” 

When Hester explained how she had kept hei 
cares to herself, and Mr. Pye had seen only one 
note, her husband attempted to ridicule her out 
of the notion that had taken possession of her; 
but this was attempting too much. For once, 
the gentle, tractable Hester appeared sullen. 
She sat looking out of the wundow, and twisting 
the corner of her handkerchief, till Edgar was 
tired of talking to her. 

“Well, Madam,” said he at length: “you 
do not seem disposed to make any answer 
What would you have now?” 


THE wife’s return. 


n 

Hester turned full round upon him to ask if 
he really wished to know what she would have. 
Edgar could only look rather silly, and ay “To 
be sure.” 

“ I would have your confidence, Edgar, as a 
wife should have. I have kept your secrets 
(those that you could not help my knowing) 
long enough, I am sure, to show that I may be 
trusted. Let you have done what you may, I 
am the one who ought to know all; for I may 
screen you from shame, and I must share your 
shame when it comes. I am not one to betray 
you, Edgar. I am your wife, and far more 
ready to excuse and forgive your — your — ways 
than you yourself will one day be to excuse 
them.” 

“ Women do not know what they ask for 
when they seek their hasbands’ confidence,” 
said Edgar. “As soon as they have got it, 
they would be glad enough to have been less 
curious.” 

“ Curious!” repeated Hester, offended at 
the word. “If it were curiosity, I might get 
the Newgate calendar, or set Philip talking, as 
he likes to do, by the three hours together 
about making money in an unlawful way.” — 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


93 


(She could not bring herself to utter the word 
“forgery.”) — “You think, J suppose, that it 
is curiosity that brought me home to-day.” 

It was some damned troublesome thing, 
whether it was curiosity or anything else, Ed- 
gar swore. Hester trembled while she said 
that she could go back again, if he chose it; 
but that she had much rather stay and help 
him. 

“ Help me!” exclaimed Edgar. “ What do 
you mean by helping me?” 

“Is it such a very new thing for wives to 
help their husbands?” Hester asked. “ I mean, 
however, that whatever you are concerned in, I 
wish to be concerned in too. I do not want to 
be a spy. I want to be your wife. Let me 
help you to make notes, or send me quite away. 
I cannot bear to be in the house, and know what 
you are doing, and have none of your confi- 
dence, and no one to open my mind to.” 

As it was evidently too late to attempt to con- 
ceal the fact from her, Edgar saw at once that 
it would be the safest plan to keep her at home, 
and to implicate her so far as to secure her 
fidelity. He drew a chair beside her, prepara- 
tory to giving what he called “ a candid expla- 
nation.” 


94 


THE wife’s return. 


‘‘You must see, my love, that it is not for 
own sake that I have placed myself in the cir- 
cumstances you have unfortunately become ac- 
quainted with.” 

“ O, certainly. It was not for your own sake 
that you took a sudden fit of affection for me 
lately and remembered that I had not breathed 
country air for four years. It was not for your 
own sake that you pressed your money upon 
me, and wished that I should spend it among 
my old friends. O no; this was all for my sake, 
and for the good of the Haleham people. 1 
understand it all quite well,” said the miserable 
wife. 

“ If you looked about you while you were at 
Haleham, you must have understood,” said Ed- 
gar, “that there is no way of doing so much 
good just now as by putting out money. Did 
you not find a terrible want of it every where ? 
especially of small notes? — Well. Everybody 
sees and feels the same thing; and the country 
is full of discontent at the currency being so 
deplorably contracted as it is now. Of course, 
this discontent will be listened to in time, and 
the bank will meet the popular demand. In the 
mean while, those are benfactors to society 


THE wife’s return. 


95 


who supply the want as far as they can. It Is 
a dangerous service, Hester; but it is a very 
important one, I assure you.” 

Hester was not to be quite so easily taken in; 
but she would not check her husband’s commu- 
nication by raising any objections. He went on. 

“ You must have seen, if you spent the notes 
as I desired, how acceptable they were at Hale- 
ham; how brisk they made the business there; 
how ” 

‘Must like the first issue of Cavendish’s 
notes,” observed Hester. 

“ But there is this difference, my dear. Our 
notes are not those of a bank that will break. 
There will not be a crash ” 

“ No; only a dead loss to the holders who 
present them at the Bank of England, or who 
find them out on going home from shopping or 
market. Only a stain upon commercial charac- 
ter, — a shock to commercial credit. Only a 
gain to us of whatever is lost by these holders, 
or by the Bank of England. Only a robbery of 
them to einrich ourselves. I understand.” 

“ I am sure you do not, if you talk of my 
gains,” replied Edgar. “ Why, my dear, the 
wealth of the Bank would not make up to me 


96 


THE wife’s return. 


for the risk and trouble of passing notes. And 
when you see what we have been doing upstairs, 

you will be convinced that our expenses ” 

“ Very well,” said Hester, quietly; ‘‘I do 
not want convincing. Tell me what part I«m 
to take. You may trust me for being very 
careful; for I am as well aware as you what is 
at stake. I do not know whether my being 
able to draw will be of any use to you. ” 

“ I am not sure but it may,” replied Edgar. 
“ Your best way of helping us, however, will 
be in doing our out-door work: in making our 
purchases; in ” 

“ In passing your notes, you mean. I am 

afraid, 1 have so little presence of mind 

.” The sight of Edgar’s grave looks re- 
minded her to make no difficulties; and she 
went on. “ However, I can plan what to say 
when they refuse a note; and when they make 
no difficulty, there is only the fear to go through: 
and that is not so bad as not being trusted. I 
can do any thing, if I am trusted.” 

Had not you better go upstairs, and see 
what we have been doing ” said Edgar. “ And 
yet, — perhaps, — it may turn out a safer thing 
for you to be able to swear that you never saw 


THE wife’s return. 


97 


our apparatus, or set foot on that floor, since 

“I must know all now,” said Hester, rising: 

and as for swearing, — when one is once in 

j j 

“ True, true,” replied her husband, astonish- 
ed at her calmness, and beginning to think that 
he had mistaken his companion’s capabilities all 
this while. “ There are the keys. Go and 
look about you; and I will explain it all when 
you come down.” 

I suppose,” said Hester, returning from 
the door, “ I suppose the gentleman who dined 
with you shares the office that I am to have. 
He does your out-door business too, does not 
he.^” 

Who, Carter.^ What made you think so.^ 
He travels for a paper-maker.” 

‘‘ Carter!” exclaimed Hester, reproachfully 
“ Edgar, you will gain nothing by such half- 
confidences as yours. You think because Ca- 
vendish now wears black whiskers, and because 
I sat behind him, that I should not know him. 
How blind you must think me!” 

Edgar protested that he meant no deceit, but 
that he had been so used of late to call Caven- 
VoL. IL— G 


98 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


dish by his new name, as to forget that he had 
ever been known by any other He begged 
that Hester would be particularly careful to ad- 
dress him properly on all occasions, and also to 
spare his feelings by avoiding any allusion to 
Haleham and its inhabitants. Hester readily 
promised this, feeling that there would be little 
temptation to mention Rhoda and her lover, or 
any of their injured neighbours, in the presence 
of the swindler, whose sensibility had come 
somewhat too late to be of any advantage to 
them. 

The rooms on the floor above were so alter- 
ed that she could scarcely believe she was in the 
same house she had inhabited for years. The 
windows were blocked up, and each room light- 
ed by a skylight, so built round, as she after- 
wards discovered, as to be nearly inaccessible 
from the roof; and when got at, so fenced with 
iron bars as to make entrance from above a 
work of considerable time and difficulty. There 
were new doors to both rooms, and another 
within a few feet of the head of the stairs; and 
all were of the same make with the strange 
door in the passage below; — thick oak doors, 
with abundance of bolts, and cross bars which 


THE wife’s return. 


99 


slipped into holes in the solid walls. A new 
ladder, just long enough to reach the ceiling, 
stood in each room, which made Hester suppose 
that either the sky-light could be opened from 
within, so as to afford a way of escape, or that 
there must be a concealed trap-door for the 
same purpose. The remaining furniture of the 
room would have told the most careless observ- 
er that no ordinary business was carried on 
there. There was a brick stove, built appar- 
ently to sustain a considerable heat; and there 
were rollers, such as are used in copper-plate 
printing. One of the keys on the bunch open- 
ed a closet wherein were iron frames, the size 
of bank notes, with ivory numbers fixed in by 
a screw; coppesr-plates, with boards and cloths 
for taking impressions, jars of printing ink, and 
the flannel jackets of those who were to use it. 
A recess which had formerly held lumber, had 
been emptied to make room for a store of coke. 
There was such completeness and such ampli- 
tude about the apparatus, that Hester was con- 
vinced a large gang must be implicated in her 
husband’s proceedings. If it had not been for 
this, she would probably have turned faint- 
hearted, and run away to Haleham after all: — 


100 


THE wife’s return. 


faint-hearted, not on account of the danger, but 
of the guilt. But she felt something so impos- 
ing in the magnitude of these preparations for 
breaking the law, that, like too many people, 
she lost sight of much of the guilt in the feeling 
of extensive companionship. She had some 
dread of learning who the rest of the gang were; 
and did not at all like Cavendish being one of 
them, as she concluded he was. 

Her husband made occasion to ask, the same 
evening, how she came to fancy that Carter had 
anything to do with his private affairs. He had 
told her that Carter travelled for a paper-mak- 
ing concern, and he now added that he lived 
in Yorkshire, and had merely taken a dinner 
in a friendly way while in town on one of his 
business journeys. This satisfied Hester, who 
did not remember at the moment what different 
kinds of paper are made ; and that paper is one 
of the elements of a bank-note. 

She was now uneasy until she should have 
discharged her mother’s commission about the 
guineas. As a first step, she inquired of her 
husband whether Philip knew of all the pro- 
ceedings that went on in his own house; and 
was told that he must be aware that there was 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


101 


something doing, about which it was better, for 
his own sake, not to ask, or to give any infor- 
mation; but that no confidence had been placed 
in him which could implicate him in any way. 
This determined Hester to trust him to value 
and exchange the guineas; and to delay speak- 
ing to him about it no longer than till her hus- 
band should be gone to business the next morn- 
ing. 

When Edgar had duly found fault with her for 
rising with red eyes, because it would prevent 
her going out to spend notes with the proper 
face of indifference ; when he had looked to the 
fastenings of the new door above, and told her 
that nobody would be there till the white-wash- 
ers had departed from below; when she had 
watched him along the street so as to be pretty 
sure that he would not return, she ventured 
down, and put her head in at the private door 
of the shop to see if Philip was alone. He was 
alone; and bending so intently over his work 
as to give his invariable start when spoken to. 

“Are you too busy to let me speak with 
you.>” 

“Why, no: I cannot well say that I am; 
though many’s the time I could have said so 


102 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


when you have come. But those were bettei 
days than we shall soon see again.” 

Is your business doing badly, like other 
people’s? I thought you had got up a steady, 
flourishing business, that, depending on the 
wealthy, was not liable to be afiected as inferi- 
or ones are.” 

“There is no business that has notits bad 
times; and those of the goldsmiths are now 
coming; or rather, have come. It is not only 
that people have less money to spend on trink- 
ets (which is true of the rich as well as others) 
but gold is so much dearer of late that the change 
of times tells both ways for those who deal in 
whatever is made of gold.” 

“Aye, I see. If people could not now buy 
trinkets at your former prices, much less can 
they at a higher price.” 

“And if the bank begins paying in cash,” re- 
sumed Philip, “ I am afraid gold will be very 
scarce and dear for our handicraft purposes. 
One hears nothing now of buying and selling 
guineas. Do you know,” he continued, low- 
ering his voice, “ I have not had a single offer 
of coin to sell for months.” 

“ So much the better for one who wishes to 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


103 


deai. with you in that way,” observed Hester. 
“ If gold is scarce, you will give a good price 
for a batch of guineas.” 

“ That dep.ends upon what coinmodity I pay 
in,” replied Philip. “ If in goods, all very 
well: if in bank paper, you will remember that 
that is scarce too. Guineas are no\y worth only 
a trifle more than bank-notes; and since it is 
so, I cannot but wonder that anybody has them 
to sell. Anybody that thought of doing so 
should have done it many months, — aye, full 
three years ago, to have made the best bar- 
gain.” 

“ My mother knows that now. It is she that 
sends you this bag of coin,” said Hester, pror 
ducing the treasure. “ Slie must have notes for 
it, of course, and not goods; and I am sure, 
Philip, you will give her as much a,s you can 
aflbrd, in consideration of her disappointment 
from having kept them too long.” 

“ That I will,” said Philip, “ and more than 
I would give anybody else. It will be a. good 
opportunity of giving her a present, which I was 
thinking of doing about this time. Which do 
Vou think she will like best, — to have as much 
as I suppose she expects for her guineas, or to 


104 


THE wife’s return. 


have little above the same number of one pound 
notes, and a present of some pretty thing out 
of my stock?” 

Hester rather thought her mother would pre- 
fer an exemption from disappointment to a testi- 
mony of remembrance from her son. All moth- 
ers would not have given cause to be thus judg- 
ed ; nor would all sons have received so morti- 
fying an opinion with the indifference which 
Philip exhibited. The whole affair was to him 
a matter of business; the devising the present, 
the manner in which it should be bestowed, and 
finally, the way in which it would be accepted. 

‘^Let me see,” said he, pondering his bar- 
gain. “What should I give to anybody else? 
Here is paper money now within 2i per cent, 
of gold: but likely to fail a bit, I fancy, before 
the Bank begins its cash payments, if it ever 
does such a thing.” 

“And how low had paper fallen when guineas 
sold best?” enquired Hester. 

“ Why, paper money is worth nearly 23 per 
cent, more now than it was in 1814. That was 
the year when my mother should have disposed 
of her hoard. Paper has risen so high, you see, 
that government thinks it a good time to fix its 


THE wife’s return. 


105 


value by making Bank of England notes paya- 
ble in cash. As far as the present value of pa- 
per is concerned, it may be a good time; but it 
is a bad time on other accounts.” 

“ Why? I should have thought it one of the 
best that could be chosen. There are no armies 
to be paid abroad. Think what a quantity of 
coin it must have taken to pay our soldiers on 
the continent during the war! Then there is, 
in the midst of all the distress that is complained 
of, some degree of that security and steadiness 
which follow upon a peace; and the gold that 
was hoarded is now brought out for use. All 
these circumstances seem likely to help the 
Bank to pay in specie. I should have thought 
this a particularly good time to begin again.” 

‘‘Aye; that is because you do not know. 
There has been a falling off from the mines late- 
ly ; and this is just the time that several foreign 
states have chosen for calling in some of their 
paper currency. Gold would be getting dearer 
from these causes, even if we did not want to 
buy more than usual of it. But wanting, as we 
do, thirty millions in goldj what can w^e expect 
but that it should be very dear!” 

“Where are these thirty millions to come 
from?” 


106 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


‘‘ Part from one place, and part from another. 
Here are some out of my mother’s mattress, 
you see; and more will come from the mines, 
and the rest from various countries where we 
deal.” 

I could fancy thirty millions an immense 
sum to come from one place,— out of one mar- 
ket,” observed Hester: but if it is to be gath- 
ered together out of the whole world, I should 
think it would hardly be missed so as to raise 
the price of gold very much. It must be so lit- 
tle in comparison with the whole quantity that 
is in use!” 

I have heard that, supposing we look abroad 
for two-thirds of the metal wanted, (finding the 
other third at home,) we shall buy about one 
twenty-fifth part of what is in use. To be sure, 
this is not likely to raise the price very terribly; 
but there are people who say it will.” 

The same people, perhaps, who have always 
been very sure that the Bank never would pay 
in coin. These very persons are the most like- 
ly to be crying out, ten years hence, that the 
Bank had much better not have begun paying 
in coin.” 

‘‘ O yes! They will go on complaining, as 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


107 


they do noAV, that the value of the currency has 
to be raised. But, for my part, I think that if 
we are ever to be made secure against the same 
troubles happening over again with the curren- 
cy, it bad best be when gold and paper have 
come within a little of the same value. I should 
not be afraid of fixing our paper when it comes 
within five per cent, of gold, one way or the 
other; and, as I said, it is now within two 
and a half. Not that I would warrant our be- 
ing safe yet, even if the Bank paid every note in 
gold to-morrow. There are people who think 
that more mischief will come yet*” 

“Well; pray reckon my mother’s money 
without taking any future mischief into the ac- 
count.” 

Philip nodded, and pursued his calculations. 
In due time, he made a declaration of the sum, 
in pounds, shillings, pence, and farthings, which 
he could afford for the gold. With a little sti- 
mulus from his sister, he came to a resolution 
to make it up such an even sum as might travel 
by post in the shape of a single bank-note; by 
which means Hester’s mind would be eased of 
her commission, and Mrs. Parndon’s relieved 
from suspense without delay. 


108 THE wife’s return. 

“You are going out, I suppose,” said Phi- 
lip. “ You can get the note in ten minutes, it’ 
you like. I am always willing to pay ready 
money for what I buy, I am thankful to say.” 

Hester would be obliged to him to procure 
the note, as she could not go put this morning. 
Meanwhile, she would just sit down at his desk, 
and write a few lines to her mother. 

She did so, while Philip put on his hat and 
stepped to the Bank. She folded the note into 
the letter herself, sealed it, and committed it to 
the careful Philip to be carried to the post when 
his own letters should go. This done, she went 
slowly up to her parlour, drew her drawing-table 
listlessly into its accustomed light, and spent the 
rest of the morning in covering a sheet of paper 
with strokes which to any eye but her own would 
have meant nothing; but which, falling in her 
way more than a year afterwards, caused a cold 
shudder to run through her, by recalling the 
thoughts that were in her mind while her pencil 
was thus idly busy. 

“ My letter is gone, Philip, I suppose?” she 
enquired at dinner. 

“ Yes; and mother is saved the postage. I 
met Edgar just in time. He knew of somebody 
going through Haleham to morrow.” 


THE WIFE S RETURN. 


109 


** You should always ask me,” observed Ed- 
gar, when you have double letters to send. I 
generally know of somebody going to pass with- 
in a reasonable distance of any place you have 
to write to. I met Horace Berkeley; and he 
enquired if we had any commands, he intending 
to go down-tomorrow. And if he had not, there 

is Williamson’s traveller, setting off for D 

to-night. You should always give a double let 
ter into my charge,” 

Hester was not so grateful for such considera- 
tion as she would have been a few weeks before. 
She was vexed and alarmed at her letter having 
been thus intercepted; but tv/o days set her at 
ease on this point, by bringing Mrs. Parndon's 
thankful acknowledgments of the receipt of the 
sum sent, and an answer, point by point, to what 
her daughter’s letter contained. It had certain- 
ly arrived safe; and Hester reproached herself 
for suspecting her husband of more villainy than 
that of which she had proof, and which he de- 
fended as being pursued on principle. 


no 


THE wife’s obedience 


CHAPTER V. 

THE wife’s obedience. 

Irksome, beyond all powers of description, 
was Hester’s life from this day forward. It 
would have been perfectly intolerable but for 
one circumstance ; viz. that not only she loved 
him for whom she went through daily acts of 
guilt, and hourly emotions of terror, but that she 
hoped that he loved her. Watchful and suspi- 
cious as she had been made, it appeared to her 
that Edgar was really touched by the toils and 
sufferings she underwent for his sake; that with 
his confidence his affection revived, and that it 
was really once more a pleasure to him to meet 
her, and a pain to part from her. This conse- 
quence of her participation in his deeds, whether 
real or imaginary, was little enough of a com- 
pensation for the miseries they caused her; but 
it just sufficed to prevent her sinking, — to sus- 
tain her, as she said to herself, till, by some 
means or other, there should be .an end of the 
long, weary fever fit of hei present way of life 
The constant presence of one thought, be it what 
it may, is enough to make a hell of the mind 


THE WIFE S OBEDIENCE. 


Ill 


which it haunts. No artificial torture, — not 
even the perpetual water-drop, — -can cause an 
equal amount of misery ; — of misery which there 
are few to describe, as most who have felt it in 
an extraordinary degree are soon numbered in 
the class of those who can no more give an ac- 
count of any thing. But many have felt some- 
thing of this misery; something of the tension 
of brain which irresistibly impresses the idea of 
suicide; something of the irritability of nerve 
which drives the sufferer through air and water, 
into alternate crowds and solitude, in the vain 
hope of relief; something of the visions of wak- 
ing darkness, prolonged from the fancies of the 
day, and instantly renewed with exaggeration, 
if sleep comes in answer to the victim’s prayer. 
Probably none have so little horror of madness 
as those who have been brought acquainted with 
the misery of a besetting thought: for they are 
probably the only persons who have prayed for 
madness, — prayed for it, as the easiest transition 
from their own, without its suffering. Whether 
the apparent unconsciousness of madness is in 
fact exemption from this suffering, there are no 
means of knowing; since those who have ex- 
perienced both states are for ever disqualified 


112 


THE wife’s obedience. 


for making a comparison of them; but, judging 
from observation, there are few kinds. of the 
moodiest madness which can compare in anguish 
with the state of one who is engrossed by a sin- 
gle thought, harassed by a single protracted 
emotion. The punishment of Sisyphus could be 
little to it; unless indeed he was condemned to 
think of nothing but of his stone. He had action 
to relieve his thought; and varied action, since 
he had to follow his stone down hill, as well as 
to push it up. If any part of his punishment 
reached the acme of suffering, it must have been 
the unintermitting idea of the toilsome useless- 
ness of his employment. If he was permitted a 
respite from this consciousness, his torment 
must have been less severe than that of the wife 
of a forger who is condemned to pass a certain 
number of bad notes every day. The very un- 
dertaking implies such a degree of attachment 
as must keep alive the most harassing fear; and 
what a responsibility to be connected with such 
a fear! It was almost too much for Hester. If 
any idea but that of forged notes did find its way 
into her mind, it was of madness. She told her 
husband every day that she was becoming stu 
pid, that she was growing nervous, that she was 


THE WIFE S OBEDIENCE. 


113 


losing her memory, that she could not trust her 
understanding. She warned him that she be- 
came slower and slower in reckoning bills and 
counting change, and that she should soon be 
unfit to go to shops at all. She dreamed every 
night that Edgar was arrested through some 
mistake of hers, and had some alarming story 
for him every evening, in which he saw or pre- 
tended to see nothing at all. 

More of Edgar’s security was pretended than 
Hester was aware of. He saw that her state 
was such as to render it necessary that every 
thing should go smoothly at home if she was to 
do any good service abroad. She muttered in 
her sleep about arrest; she turned pale at every 
footstep overhead; and if such a sound occurred 
at dinner-time, did the worst thing of all, — stole 
a glance at Philip, to see if he observed it. She 
even started at the sight of any crumpled piece 
of thin paper that might be lying about. The 
symptom which he least liked, however, was the 
daily growing reluctance to set about what was 
now her chief daily business. He was anxious 
that she should go out early to make her pur- 
chases, that she might come home and ‘‘be at 
peacti” (as be called it) for the rest of the day: 

VoL. 


114 


THE wife’s obedience. 


but she put off her excursions, sometimes till the 
afternoon, sometimes till the evening, while she 
suffered as much during the intervening hours as 
if her notes were being at that moment handled 
and glanced at by a shopman. At last, he had 
recourse to the plan of settling for her at break- 
fast-time where she should go, and how far he 
could walk with her; and this bribe was more 
effectual than any entreaty whatever. 

Hester would sit waiting breakfast, appearing 
to read the newspaper, but really watching for 
the opening of the door, and speculating on what 
kind of mood her husband’s might be expected 
to be, he having been up and hard at work all 
night at his detestable employment. On these 
occasions, however, he made his appearance 
more fresh and smart even than usual, to avoid 
suspicion. Having given his wife a lively good 
morning, and looked up at the sky through his 
glass, and compared his handsome watch with 
the no less expensive one he had bought for 
Hester, he would, with an air of nonchalance, 
present her with the disgusting roll of notes, 
which she hastened to put out of sight. Edgar 
would then sit down to his well-furnished break- 
fast-table, as if he had the best title in the world 


THE WIFE S OBEDIENCE. 


115 


to its luxuries, while his wife felt them all to 
be incumbrances, and was driving away the 
thought of where she should stow all the further 
ornaments with which she must go on to fill the 
house. 

‘‘ Well, my love,” said Edgar, what is your 
district to-day?” 

“ What a very bright morning it is!” was the 
reply. ‘‘ This is just the light for finishing my 
drawing. If I do not go out till the afternoon, 
I can carry it home; and it is promised this 
week.” 

“ To-morrow will do for that, my dear; and 
I have to go into Gracechurch-street after break- 
fast, and you may as well make that your desti- 
nation for to-day.” 

I have been there so very much lately.” 

‘‘Have you? Then it is better avoided. 
What say you to Gheapside?” 

“ I have twice had a note refused in that 
neighbourhood, and I never dare go there 
again.” 

“You are right. It is surely a long time 
since you went to the Soho Bazaar.” 

Hester gasped as she replied that that place 
was so close, there was no room to breathe, — 


116 


THE wife’s OBEEIENCE. 


scarcely any possibility of getting away quick- 

y- 

This is a very fine day for the Park. You 
would enjoy a turn there after shopping in Re- 
gent-street.” 

What else can I buy.^” asked Hester, list- 
lessly looking round her. “ I have no more 
room for furniture, and I am tired of getting 
new things for myself.” 

“ Besides, my dear, you could not wear them. 
It would not do to make any sudden difference 
in your appearance out of doors. Indoors it 
does not signify, as there is nobody to observe 
you but our own people. Indoors I can have 
the pleasure of seeing my pretty Hester look as 
she should do, — graceful and polished as the 
highest ladies of the land.” 

‘‘ I wonder it gives you pleasure to see me 
dressed,” Hester was going to say: but Edgar 
proceeded with an explanation that one of her 
difficulties would soon be removed. She might 
very soon enlarge the range of her purchases, 
as Carter had been long enough a traveller for 
the paper-manufactory in Yorkshire, and was 
about to open a ware house near where Edgar 
and his friends might deposit and dispose of anv 


THE wife’s obedience. 


117 


purchased articles they might not want for them- 
selves. Hester was glad to hear this. She 
would send thither immediately the portfolios of 
prints, which she had no pleasure in looking at, 
— the rows of handsomely bound books which she 
could not bring herself to open. 

Well, was she ready? her husband wanted to 
know. He must go, and would set on her 
way westwards, if she would put on her bonnet. 
She did so, — the same bonnet she had worn for 
some time, that there might be nothing for the 
neighbours to remark upon. While on their 
way, Hester observed that she did hope the 
shops would not be empty to-day. She lost all 
her presence of mind when she was the only 
customer, and there were shop-people standing 
about to watch her. 

“You are always fancying that people are 
watching you,” said Edgar. “ They are think- 
ing of no such thing, depend upon it. You 
have only to take care that you do not put it 

into their heads. You should do as T do 

What has that impudent fellow been following 
us for, these five munites? Did you happen to 
see where he came from?” 

“No,” whispered the trembling Hester, “but 


118 


THE wife’s obedience. 


take no notice.” And she walked on with an 
appearance of more self-command than her hus- 
band expected of her. He grew more and more 
fidgety every moment, and presently crossed the 
street, his apprehended follower trudging on as 
before, and evidently bestowing no thought on 
those at whose heels he had accidentally been 
walking for a minute or two. 

‘‘ He is not thinking of us,” observed Edgar. 
‘‘ That is well.” 

An idea crossed Hester, which brightened 
her face surprisingly. ‘‘1 have just remember- 
ed,” said she, “ I really want something. Yoii 
say you like rosewood door-handles for the draw- 
ing-room better than brass, and it is time we were 
having the one or the other, and here are some 
of rosewood in this window. We can get rid of 
a note here. Come in and help me to choose a 
pair.” 

Edgar was, however, in a prodigious hurry. 
He was off in a moment. His wife looked after 
him from the threshold with an unutterable pang. 
There was no contempt in it. She struggled 
yet against the belief of his total selfishness. 
She trusted, she expected to hear at dinner that 
he really could not spare any more time to her 


THE wife’s obedience. 


119 


this morning. The next thought was that it 
really did not signify, as her business in the 
shop went off easily enough. She had never 
seen a note more ignorantly handled, more 
carelessly thrust into the till. 

The same impunity attended her everywhere 
this day. She could have stood firmly by the 
counters if the seats had all been occupied, and 
she was not obliged to clasp her hands toge- 
ther in her lap lest their trembling should be 
observed. In only one instance did any par- 
ticular attention seem to be paid to a note. 
One shopman handed it to another, who hastily 
pronounced by a knowing nod that it was very 
good; so that Hester received abundance of 
thanks with her change, and was bowed out of 
the shop like any one of the enviable purchasers 
who left it innocent. 

It was no new idea to Hester to wish that 
she might meet with some accident, — something 
that would prevent her going out for several 
days, or weeks, or^ — for ever. She had often 
asked whether she might not give assistance 
upstairs, instead of passing notes: but Edgar al- 
ways put her off with speeches about staining 
her pretty fingers with printing ink, or hurting 


120 


THE wife’s obedience. 


1 


them with the rollers; and sometimes he gave 
hints that there were people at work there with 
whom it would be no pleasure to her to associ- 
ate. She was too honest to think of making her- 
self ill for the sake of evading her task; but she 
could not be sorry this day when a sudden rain 
came on while she was in the Park, and wetted 
her to the skin. She had great hopes of catch- 
ing a severe cold, and was certainly guilty of 
not doing her utmost to prevent it, either by 
keeping herself in exercise during the rain, or 
using proper precautions when she reached 
home. 

When her husband recurred to their morn- 
ing’s conversation, reminding her that her task 
would become comparatively easy during the 
great London season, when the shops would be 
crowded with customers; when the dreary 
thought arose how many weeks and months must 
pass before even this alleviation could be hoped 
for, it was a pleasure to feel so ill that one week 
at least would be subtracted from the long series, 
— seven mornings when sTie would not have to 
stimulate her courage up to the point of enter- 
prise, seven nights when she might close her 
eyes without dreading and waking. 


121 THE wife’s obedience. 

Edgar was vexed almost beyond his patience 
when he found his wife really ill the next morn- 
ing. He tried at first to persuade her that air 
would do her good, and that the amusement of 
shopping was far better than moping at home. 
When this would not do, the next thing was to 
desire her to have the attendance of a physician 
immediately, as expense was no object, and her 
health was of inexpressible importance to him. 
Hester begged to decline the physician, not 
choosing to fee him with bad notes, and loath- 
ing the idea of following up her occupation within 
her own doors, during her escape from its exer- 
cise without. She trembled too at the idea of ad- 
mitting any stranger into the house. Her hus- 
band thought it would be an advantage, provid- 
ed every thing suspicious w'as kept out of sight. 
The matter was compromised by the apothecary 
being sent for, — a simple young man who was 
much affected by Mr. Morrison’s extreme anx- 
iety for his wife’s recovery, and thereby induced 
to order her out of 'doors full three days sooner 
than he would have done in an ordinary case. 

“ A lovely day, as you say,” observed Edgar. 
“ Mild and sunny, and just fit for an invalid. 
Would not you recommend Mrs. Morrison to 


122 THE wife’s obedience. 

recreate a little in the open air? Consider how 
long it is she saw any faces but ours.” 

“ I do not want to see any new faces,” said 
Hester. “I cannot bear them yet. All I want 
Ts to be alone.” 

Aye, aye; a little of the ennui and melan- 
choly of illness, you see, Mr. Cotton.” 

Mr. Cotton agreed that a little gentle change 
would be salutary to the nerves, though, as a 
distressing languor of the frame, and slight fre- 
quency of the pulse remained, it would be well 
not to urge exertion too far. 

‘‘ I am sure,” said Hester, “that if I went out 
to-day, I should fall before I could get back 
from the end of the street.” 

“ But you could not fall if you had a strong 
arm to hold you up; and I do not mean that you 
should go alone; of course I would go with 
you, or Philip.” 

Hester gave him a look which reminded him 
of her determination not to implicate her brother 
in any of her shopping expeditions. 

“ I am going to have a friend to dine with 
me,” observed Edgar, to Mr. Cotton; “ and it 
would be just the thing for her to saunter to the 
fruiterer’s in the next street, and send in a little 


THE wife’s obedience. 


1^23 


desert, refreshing herself with a buncn of 
grapes there, you know. I should see a little 
bloom on her cheeks again when she came home, 
and then I should begin to think she was going 
to be herself again. Upon my soul, I don’t 
know how to bear my life while she is shut up 
in this way.” 

“I am glad of it,” thought Hester; ‘‘ for now 
you know something of what my life is when I 
am not shut up. I suppose you have had 
enough of shopping.” 

The apothecary was delighted with the little 
plan suggested by conjugal solicitude. He im- 
mediately prescribed a bunch of grapes, to be 
eaten at the fruiterer’s, and Hester dared not re- 
fuse acquiescence. As she expected, her hus- 
band went no farther than the door with her; 
and the boy was presently in waiting to take care 
of her home. 

Just before dinner, Edgar entered, and sat 
down by his wife, to explain to her, with a smile, 
that though he had spoken of a friend coming to 
dinner, there were really two, and that one of 
them was to be her visiter. Could she guess 
who it was.^ Poor Hester named one Haleham 
friend after another, till her vexed husband 


124 


THE wife’s obedience. 


stopped her with the news that it was nobody 
whom she had yet visited, he believed, but one 
whom she would think it an honour to entertain. 
There was no occasion in the world for ceremo- 
ny, however; and this was the reason why he 
had not told her till now ” 

“ Well, but who is it?” asked Hester, impa- 
tiently. 

“ Bless me! Hester, how pettish you have 
grown since you have been ill. One won’t be 
able to speak to you soon. It is Mrs. Caven- 
dish that is coming; but you know you must call 
her Mrs. Carter. I am glad I have found a 
friend for you at last, my love. It has been 
quite an uneasiness to me that you have been 
moped as you have been of late, — that you have 

depended so entirely on me ” 

Yes, Edgar, I have depended entirely on 
you.” 

There now, do not grow so nervous the mo- 
ment one mentions a thing! Never mind about 
dressing, or about entertaining these people. 
They know you have been ill, and Mrs. Carter 
comes to entertain you.” 

Mrs. Carter came accordingly, with an air of 
condescending kindness, praised everything she 


THE wife’s obedience. 


125 


saw, vowed the house and furniture delightful, 
and protested that the little party at dinner was 
just the friendly, intellectual sort of thing she 
enjoyed above all things, when she could in con- 
science bring herself to desert her little tribe. 
She hoped Hester liked London; though she 
could not be expected to do so to an equal degree 
with anxious mothers who felt what a deprivation 
it was to their dear little creatures to be shut up 
in the narrow circle of a country-town. For her 
part, she and Mr. Carter often said what a happi- 
ness it was, — (though it was a trial at the time,) 
that they were obliged to leave Haleham when 
they did. If the Carter estate had happened to 
fall in to them then, it would (although certainly 
saving them from some painful circumstances) 
have been an injury to the children, by keeping 
them out of the way of the advantages which 
London alone can afford. 

“ How long had Mr. Cavendish changed his 
name?” Hester asked. 

O, my dear, these three years. His dear, 
good, old great-uncle had lasted wonderfully; 
but he died at length just three years ago; after 
all, just in time to make us more comfortable 
than I assure you we were after the misfortunes 


126 


THE wife’s obedience. 


that were brought upon us by the stoppage of 
that unfortunate D bank. Aye, you won- 

der, I dare say, at our coming to live in such a 
neighbourhood as this, after all, but 

“ I know,” said Hester, “Mr. Carter is about 
to open a warehouse.” 

“ Your lord and master is as communicative 
and confidential as mine, I see,” observed Mrs. 
Cavendish. “ Well, I think we are well off in 
our husbands, as I tell my dear little tribe about 
mine on all occasions. And you should have 
seen how fond they grew of Mr. Morrison, the 
first day he came among them, and smiled upon 
them all, so sweetly ! I assure you they have 
asked many times since when he would come 
again. And you must come too. I promised 
my little folks that you would. When your poor 
dear head is better, you must come and spend a 
long day with me. It is the nicest thing in the 
world, our living so near, our husbands being 
connected as they are. If any little panic rises 
at any time, here we are to comfort one another. 
And I assure you I am dreadfully nervous, ever 
since that unfortunate affair at Haleham. Do 
you know, I absolutely forget about my husband 
having let his whiskers grow; and I have 


THE wife’s obedience. 


1:27 


screamed three times this week when he has 
come in between light and dark, taking him for 
some stranger. I have a horror of strangers 
now; ever since ” 

She could not help perceiving Hester’s coun- 
tenance of misery while she was saying this; so 
she interrupted herself. 

There now! I have been barbarous enough 
to make your head ache with my nonsense. Now 
positively I will hold my tongue ; but it is such a 
luxury to get an hour with an intimate friend, 
away from my little tribe!” 

Edgar disappeared with his guests, at the end 
of an evening which Hester thought never would 
come to a close. On his return, some hours 
after, he found her, not asleep, nor even in bed, 
but leaning over the arm of the sofa, from which 
hung the locket farmer Williams had given her 
on the day preceding her marriage, — and weep- 
ing bitterly. She tried to speak first, but could 
not for sobs. 

“ Why, my poor little woman,’’ said Edgar, 
after a glance round which quieted his fear that 
intruders had been there — my poor little wo- 
man! we have quite tired you out to-day; but 
you should have gone to bed; you should ” 


128 


THE wife’s obedience. 


“ I could not go,” said Hester. “ I would 
not till I had spoken to you, Edgar. I have 
something that I must say to you.” 

‘‘Well, well, love; in the morning. It is 
very late now; and, look ye, the last candle is 
just burnt out. What could make you wait for 
me, child, when you know the people overhead 
were on the watch to let me in? I must make 
haste and help them. It is a busy night.” 

“ O, no, no. You must stay and hear me,” 
cried Hester, struggling for speech. “ I must 
say it now. Indeed I must.” 

“ Aye; you are going to say what a much 
better husband that son of Williams’s would 
have made. I know what that locket means, 
very well. If he had been alive, I should tell 
you that you ought to have known your ov/n 
mind when you married me. Since he’s dead, 
there is no more to be said, except that I do wish 
you would chirp up a little, and not let every- 
body see that there is something the matter 
Do you know, I will not emswer for the conse- 
quences?” 

“ Nor I, I am sure,” murmured Hester. “ 1 
had better go, Edgar; and that is what I was 
going to say. I have been joining in your plots 


THE wife’s obedience. 


129 


all this time for your sake. I could not have 
borne it so long for any body else, I could go 
on still, I think, if it was with you alone; but I 
never promised to have anything to do with — 
with ” 

“ With Mrs. Cavendish, from whom you 
thought it an honour to have a nod at Hale- 
ham?” 

‘‘ She was a respectable person then; or, at 
least, I supposed she was. And now she comes 
pretending to-be so intimate, and talking about 
the whole connexion, as if she took for granted 
that I saw no more harm in it than she does. 
Edgar, this is too much.” 

She is too wise a woman to suit you, you 
little goose. She sees clearly what I thought 
I made you understand ages ago; — that we are 
doing the greatest service to the country by 
sending out money when it was so much want- 
ed. How often have I told you this, I won- 
der?” 

Very often indeed, Hester allowed: but she 
did not yet look convinced. 

“ Well, what is it you wish to do?” inquired 
Edgar. Would you have me go and tell 
Mrs. Carter that you decline the honour of her 
acquaintance?” 

VoL. II.—l 


130 


THE wife’s obedience. 


“ I had rather you would let me go home * 
‘‘ And tell farmer Williams all about the ar- 
rangements of our second floor., the first time 
he takes you on his knee, and whispers to you 
about the locket. No, madam, it is rather too 
late for that.” 

I wish you would not call me ‘ madam.' 
I cannot bear it. I am sure I have done all you 

bade me for a long time, and never and 

never ” 

Very true, my little wife. It is too bad to 
treat you like other wives, when you behave so 
differently from many that I see. I want you 
too much, and value you too much by far to part 
with you; and since you do not like Mrs. Carter. 
I am sorry that I brought her; but I thought 
it would be a pleasant surprise to yoii, that was 
all. Now, give me a kiss, and don’t be aiigry 
with yourself for being weak-spirited after your 
illness, and you will sleep it all off, depend 
upon it.” 

Hester felt that there was but one sleep that 
would cure her sorrows; but she did not say 
exactly this. She threw her arm round Edgar’s 
neck, wailing forth rather than speaking her 
complaint, that she could not go on with her 


THE wife’s obedience. 


J3i 

detestable employment of passing notes. She 
begged, she implored that this dreadful respon- 
sibility might be taken from her, or she would 
not answer for what she might do. She might 
throw herself into the river, some day; or go in 
a fit of desperation to the police, to give infor- 
mation. 

Edgar coolly dared her to do the one or the 
other; and then, protesting that he loved her 
very much, and wished to be a kind husband, 
gave her notice that the continuance of his ten- 
derness and confidence depended wholly on her 
doing her duty, as he laid it down for her. Hes- 
ter was weak, — as she had been a thousand 
times before. She now deprecated as the 
crowning evil of all, the withdrawal of her hus- 
band's confidence. She promised every thing, 
under the influence of this threat; allowed her- 
self to be carried to her room; watched for the 
kiss which she now dreaded would not be given; 
returned it eagerly; and, as she let her throb- 
bing head sink helplessly on her pillow, found 
something like comfort in remembering that all 
must come to an end some time or other. 


132 


AN ARRANGEMENT- 


CHAPTER VI. 

AN ARRANGEMENT. 

The purpose of Horace’s visit to Haleham was 
to give his father the comfort of his assistance 
and sympathy respecting his affairs; — assistance 
and sympathy which were as much wanted now 
as they had ever been, from the peculiar condi- 
tion of the monetary system of the country. 
There seemed to be no possibility of winding up 
the affairs, — no end to the hopes that this, and 
that, and the other incumbrance would be got 
rid of; and no fulfilment of the hope. The 
debts went on increasing in actual amount, in 
proportion to the pains taken to provide funds to 
pay them; and the recovery of these funds be- 
came, of course, more difficult, as those who 
owed them suffered under the same disadvan- 
tages as the partners of the D bank. Day 

after day, week after week, Mr. Berkeley came 
home to tell his wife that, after all he had paid, 
he was, in fact, as deep in debt as ever; while 
the calls upon the little income allowed him by 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


133 


his creditors were increasing perpetually. His 
rent, though nominally the same as three years 
before, was worth full one-third more to his 
landlord; and, as for taxes, they were exorbi- 
tant. There seemed great danger that Mr. 
Berkeley, loyal as he had always been, would 
soon be looked upon as a dangerous person in 
politics by the country gentlemen round, so 
vehement were his complaints of the excessive 
taxation of which the government was enjoying 
the fruits, now that there was no war to be 
maintained, and every reason for a reduction of 
the public burdens, from the difficulties which 
the agricultural and manufacturing classes were 
encountering* in consequence of the sudden 
contraction of the currency. Mrs. Berkeley 
was not at all sorry to see his energy directed 
into the channel of politics. It was better than 
dwelling perpetually on his private troubles, 
and she took particular care to show no signs 
of weariness when Lewis was instructed every 
evening on the iniquity of double taxation with- 
out acknowledgment, or when Henry Craig 
came to talk about household preparations, and 
was held by the button for an hour at a time, 
while the case of tax-paying labourers was dis- 


134 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


cussed. It pleased he.r to see her husband’s 
look of satisfaction when Lewis asked sensible 
questions, or showed the expected degree of as- 
tonishment, or confidently pronounced the king’s 
ministers to be good-for-nothing chaps ; or when 
Mr. Craig had a case in point to relate which 
would do to travel round the neighbourhood, 
growing in pathos and wonder at each delivery. 
She did not even shrink from the prospect of 
hearing the whole list repeated to Horace when 
he should come, so much happier did her hus- 
band seem when he had something to rail about, 
ready made for use, instead of having to invent 
public grievances, or to brood over private 
ones. If she could have foreseen all that would 
arise to be talked about during Horace’s visit, 
she would have feared that there would be too 
much instead of too little excitement for her 
husband’s comfort. 

Horace had not been many hours under his 
father’s roof when Henry Craig came up to see 
him. This was, in itself, the most natural thing 
in the world, as they had now long been friends, 
and were soon to be brothers; but Henry was 
peculiarly grave; and this was not exactly the 
occasion on which to appear so. He soon told 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


135 


the reason. He had received a letter from 
London, inquiring into the moral character of 
his parish, and requesting to know whether it 
was at all probable that any family in Haleham 
was connected with a* company of forgers; and 
if not, whether he could account for a consider- 
able number of forged notes having been traced 
back to Haleham persons. 

Horace knew something about this. He had 
more than once, as a Haleham man, had the 
circumstance mentioned to him in the Clearing- 
house, where a very sharp scrutiny was exer- 
cised into all small notes, from the present ex- 
traordinary prevalence of forgery. 

“ Well, Craig; what do you think?” exclaim- 
ed Mr. Berkeley. 

“ I do not know what to think, sir, in the 
face of such facts as my letter gives. We have 
either guilty or deluded people among us, that 
is very certain; and who they are, and wheth- 
er deluded or guilty, it must be my business to 
find out. I hope Horace will help me.” 

‘‘ O, I will help you; and you must trust me 
to do your business thoroughly. I had some 
experience in this sort of thing when I was a 
young man. T got together a mass of evidence 


136 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


about a forgery case, — the completest you ever 
knew; and, though it was no use after all, as 
far as the offender was concerned, it was a fine 
piece of experience for me. If such a thing 
had to be done over again, you could not do 
better than put it into my hands.” 

“ How did your labors fail before.^ What 
made them useless?” 

“ The banker was a shabby fellow, and let 
the rogue go. He did worse than that. He 
recommended him to a firm in New York; ac- 
tually shipped him off with a purse of money in 
his pocket, and a letter of recommendation in 
his hand, in which not a hint was given of his 
delinquency, but his character was set forth in 
such a light as to induce the New York people 
to take him.” 

Is it possible? And was this to escape the 
odium and expense of a prosecution ?” 

The ostensible reason was that the young 
man was penitent. And so he might have been 
for aught I know; but his master knows best 
how he found that out; for there were but three 
days to be penitent in. He was shut up with 
a Bible, after the proofs of his guilt had be6n 
shown to him in such a state of completeness as 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


13 ? 


to induce him to confess: and from that solitary 
room he was taken on hoard ship at the end of 
three days; so, penitent or not penitent, his 
master was perfectly inexcusable in getting rid 
of him as he did. turned out very respect- 
ably, I have heard, which is an argument against 
hanging in such a case; but which does not 
alter the character of his master’s conduct. So 
do not you be wrought upon, Henry, to follow 
the same method. Even if you find the guilty 
person under the same roof with yourself, play 
fairly by the laws and the public safety.” 

Henry sighed, and observed that it was a 
difficult and painful matter to be concerned in, 
disapproving as he did of the wholesale sacrifice 
of human life made by the law for that species 
of crime, and yet being fully aware of the guilt 
and folly of connivance. It was fearful to think 
of the yearly amount of executions for forgery; 
— for a crime whose nature was so little under- 
stood that the forgers themselves were undoubt- 
edly in some cases’ convinced that they were 
rendering a public service in multiplying money, 
and that strong sympathy for such offenders was 
excited in the majority of those who witnessed 
their punishment. 


138 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


‘‘ I know no place more likely than Haleham 
to share such a delusion,” observed Mr. Berke- 
ley. “ Every person in it has been talking for 
these three years of the want of more money ; 
so that it would not be very surprising if some- 
body should at last have made bold to manufac- 
ture a little.” 

“ It will be more surprising, some people 
say,” observed Horace, if such a manufac- 
ture does not go on at an increasing rate, as 
long as 1/. notes are permitted to circulate. 1 
do not know how it is with you in the country, 
but in London we are now accustomed to hear 
half the evils of our present commercial state 
ascribed to the circulation of small notes. If a 
country bank fails, it is owing to the facility 
with which issues are made through the chan- 
nel of a small-note currency. If a case of for- 
gery is mentioned, it would not have taken 
place if there had been no small notes. Some 
even go so far as to regard the late fall of 
prices as an unmixed good, and to anticipate a 
further fall as one of the benefits to result from 
the prohibition of small notes.” 

** How do they account for the failure of 
country banks previous to 1792, when there 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


I3S 


were no notes under 5/.?” asked Mr. Berkeley. 
“ And why should not the forgery of 1/. notes 
be made so difficult as to be no longer worth 
while? And how is it that your wise specula- 
tors do not see the difference between the cheap- 
ness which arises from plenty, and that which 
is caused by a scarcity of the circulating medi- 
um? I thought the days were past when any 
one supposed this kind of cheapness to be a 
good thing.” 

“ It seems a pity,” observed Mr. Craig, to 
deprive the people of so convenient a kind of 
currency, if its dangers can be avoided without 
its abolition. The tremendous increase of for- 
gery is a terrible evil, to be sure; but it is in- 
conceivable that, while the art of engraving is 
improving every day, a better form might not 
easily be invented. The very largest of the 
country banks have suffered little by the forge- 
ry of their small notes, because more pains are 
taken with the engraving; and as it is more 
hazardous to imitate those of the Bank of Eng- 
land, it seems pretty clear that the practice 
would cease if the difficulty were brought into 
a better proportion with the temptation. Will 
this be done, Horace? or will the small notes 
be abolished?” 


140 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


“ I rather think they will soon be abolished; 
and I am very sure that such a measure wil . 
not give the expected stability to our country 
currency, without further precautions. As my 
father says, there were no notes under 51. in 
1792, and yet full one third of the country banks 
then in existence failed. Country bankers 
should be compelled to give security for their 
issues. There is no other way of keeping the 
provincial currency in a healthy condition.” 

And then,” observed Mr. Craig, ‘‘ it would 
be as easy to give security for 1^. as for 5/. notes: 
and I own I dread the inconvenience to the 
working classes of withdrawing this part of the 
currency, let cash payments be resumed as 
quietly and easily as they may. I suppose there 
is now no doubt of this resumption.” 

It will certainly take place within the year, 
notwithstanding abundance of prophecies that 
it will not, and wishes that it may not. I am 
not among the evil-boders, though I see what 
scope for complaint the measure will afford to 
those who are determined to complain. I see 
that it will add in some degree to the burdens of 
the labouring classes, and that, for years to 
come, it will be cried out upon as having increas- 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


141 


ed the amount of taxation, discouraged produc- 
tive industry, and thus materially injured our 
public interests: but as these evils are already ex- 
isting from other causes, and can be only slight- 
ly increased by the return to cash payments, I 
think this the most favourable opportunity for 
getting back to a convertible currency. If prices 
were now high, and must be immedieatly lower- 
ed by this measure; if a superabundant curren-. 
cy must be instantly checked; if paper at a de- 
preciation of thirty per cent, were to be sudden- 
ly brought to a par with gold, I should lift up 
my voice as loud as any one against a return 
to cash payments as the most unjust and the most 
disastrous measure that was ever meditated ; but 
we all know ’’ 

“We all know,” interrupted Mr. Berkeley, 
•“ that prices have long fallen, that the currency 
is already contracted, and that paper is only 
three per cent, cheaper than gold, and that these 
things would have happened if there had been 
no more talk of cash payments. No wonder 
corn is cheaper, when we get so much more 
from abroad since the war ended, and Ireland 
also has improved in productiveness. No won- 
der wool is cheaper, when Germany and New 


142 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


Holland have sent us so much more, and of sc 
much better quality than formerly. No won- 
der our colonial products are cheaper under the 
change of system by which we are more abun- 
dantly supplied. Those who hold themselves 
in readiness to ascribe the fall of prices to a de- 
ficiency in the supply of bullion, and to argue 
thence against a return to a convertible curren- 
cy at this time, should look about them and see 
how great a fall will exist at all events, and how 
much it will hereafter be fair to attribute to the 
new Bill.” 

Horace observed on the difficulty of satisfying 
a public which had suffered by alterations in the 
currency. Many of those who were now pro- 
testing against the resumption of cash payments 
were the very same who were clamouring to have 
the one-pound notes withdrawn, in order to make 
our provincial circulation more safe, and forgery 
less common. These were opposed by some who 
thought the establishment of branch banks would 
answer the first purpose, and by others who be- 
lieved that competition would drive out forgery. 
Never were so many plans afloat for the rectifi- 
cation of the whole business of the currency; and 
each plan was thought to involve a remedy for 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


145 


all the evils which had taken place under former 
systems. The first thing necessary seemed to 
Horace to be the putting an end to an irrespon- 
sible system ; the next, the taking care that this 
action on the currency should be the final one. 
It might afterwards be ascertained whether the 
Bank of England should retain any or all of its 
exclusive privileges, or whether the business of 
issuing notes should be left free and open to 
competition, under the natural checks of pub- 
lic and private interest, or any further responsi- 
bility to which, by general agreement, the is- 
sues should be subjected. It might be left to a 
period nearer the expiration of the Bank Char- 
ter to canvass the advantages of the Scotch 
banking system as applied to England, and 
whether the issues should be made from a great 
national bank, or from many joint-stock banks, 
or by a chartered company. There were still 
nearly fifteen years in which to consider these 
questions; and during which, further fluctua- 
tions might possibly arise to indicate new truths 
on this most important subject. The great pres- 
ent object was to get into a condition for mak- 
ing progress towards a perfect monetary sys- 
tem; and the first great step was, as he believed. 


144 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


to bring the Bank of England into a state of re- 
sponsibility once more. 

‘‘I wish,” observed Mrs. Berkeley, ‘^thac 
it was made a part of the responsibility of the 
Bank of England, that it should not tempt the 
people to forgery. To be sure, its privileges 
themselves constitute the greater part of the 
temptation, as there must always be the strong- 
est inducement to forge notes which have the 
widest circulation; but I do wish that to these 
privileges was appended a condition that its 
notes should be more difficult of imitation.” 

Horace thought that such precautions were 
better left to the interest of the parties concerned. 
The degrees of complication which should be 
put into the engravings of notes were not sub- 
jects for legislation. 

‘‘ But it is so painful,” observed Mrs. Berke- 
ley, ^‘not only to be afraid of the money that 
passes through one’s hands, but to be made 
suspicious of one’s neighbors, or to be confound- 
ed with the dwellers in a suspicious neighbor- 
hood. I do not in the least believe that any- 
body whom we know in Haleham has been in- 
tentionally implicated with forgers; but it is 
very painful to have such an idea put into one’s 
mmd.” 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


]45 


‘‘ Are you aware,” asked Horace of Mr 
Craig, “ whether any strangers have come to 
live in Haleham, of late, either openly or cov- 
ertly? ” 

Mr. Craig had heard of none. The letter he 
had received had charged the regular shopkeep- 
ers with having held bad notes, and he had a 
great mind to go to such as had been mentioned 
to him, and ask where they got such notes. 

‘‘Aye, do, without loss of time,” said Mr. 
Berkeley, “ and I will go with you. Trust me 
for sharpening their memories, if they happen 
to be at a loss. 1 have a sad memory myself, 
as my wife will tell you ; but I have a method 
of making the most of other people’s.” 

Mr. Craig at first felt that he would rather 
have been without his bustling companion; but 
it was presently proved that Mr. Berkeley was 
peculiarly apt at the business of collecting evi- 
dence. He was so ready with suggestions, saw 
so far by means of slight indications, and adapt- 
ed himself so well to the peculiar humours of 
the persons he talked with, that he enabled 
them to remember and comprehend twice as 
much as they would have done without his help. 
The linendraper, v/ho had not till now been 
VoL. II.- K 


146 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


aware that he had had a bad note in his hands; 
was so stupified at learning that one had been 
traced back to him, that he could not for some 
time remember from whom he had taken notes 
within a month, though notes were seldom seen 
now on his counter. It was Mr. Berkeley who, 
by happy conjectures, and by frequent returns 
to one or two fixed points of proof, led him to 
remember under what circumstances he gave 
change, in return for what purchase he gave it, 
when he gave it, and, finally, to whom he gave it. 
The shoemaker looked back to his books, and by 
the assistance of Mr. Berkeley’s suggestions 
about dates, brought home the fact to the same 
person of having paid him in a forged note. The 
butcher was too confused in the head to be sure 
of anything; but his stirring, clever wife of her 
own accord mentioned the same person as hav- 
ing taken change from him that very day. 

“ There is one other testimony,” observed 
Mr. Craig, “ which would end all doubt as to 
whence the bad notes have come. If Mr. Pye 
knows that Mrs. Parndon. has been paying such 
away we need inquire no further.” 

Will he own it, if he does know it.^ ” 

“ Certainly. He is both too simple and too 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


147 


upright to conceal what it is important should 
be known, though no man is more discreet in a 
matter of confidence.” 

“ Of which kind you do not consider these 
transactions to be ? ” 

I assuredly conceive Mrs. Parndon to be 
as much of a dupe as her shoemaker and butch- 
er. , You cannot suppose her guilty of fraud? ” 
“ Nay; I do not know. If she hoarded gold, 
as I have reason to believe she did, she 
might ” 

‘‘ Impossible, my dear Sir. Mrs. Parndon 
is a selfish and thrifty, but not a fraudulent, 
person; to say nothing of her having far too 
little courage to involve herself with sharpers. 
Shall we hear what Mr. Pye has to say? ” 

Mr. Pye leaned across his desk, with his 
hand behind his ear (for he had got thus far in 
acknowledging his deafness,) to listen to the 
inquiry whether there was much bad money 
afloat at this time. He had been told that a 
good deal had been passed in Haleham, though 
none had come in his way but one note, which 
had been changed, long ago, by the person who 
innocently tendered it. He had not the least 
objection to tell who this person was? O no, 


148 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


not the least, since that note was not one of the 
present batch of bad ones, and in fact came 
from London. It was brought down by Mrs. 
Edgar Morrison; and he wished it was as easy 
to account for the appearance of the rest. 

When Enoch saw the gentlemen look at one 
another, and heard from them that all the bad 
money was in course of being traced back to 
Mrs. Parndon, he stood aghast. He was not 
so blind as not to see that the probabilities of the . 
case involved either Philip or Edgar, or both: 
and was chiefly anxious that the women of the 
family should be exempt from all suspicion of 
connivance. To his great discomfiture, he was 
requested by Mr. Craig to undertake the task of 
ascertaining from Mrs. Parndon from whence 
she drew her supplies of money, and whether she 
had any of the same batch remaining. He 
would not consent to hold a conversation of this 
nature without a witness, and wished that Mr. 
Craig alone should attend him, as the very sight 
of so unusual a visitor as Mr. Berkeley might 
impede the disclosure which he now saw to be 
necessary to the vindication of his old friend’s 
character for honesty. Mr. Berkeley therefore 
gave up with some unwillingness his intended 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


149 


visit to the widow, and staid behind to write to 
London a report of proceedings thus far, and to 
collect whatever additional evidence the town 
would afford. 

“ Well* gentlemen,’’ exclaimed Mrs. Parn- 
don, as she rose up from weeding her flower-bed 
at the approach of her visitors, “ I am always 
so glad when I see you two together. . To see 
one’s oldest friend and the clergyman keeping 
company tells well for both; which I am sure 
Mr. Craig will excuse my saying, since there 
is such a difference of years between himself 
and Mr. Pye. But you will walk in and rest 
yourselves. O yes, I must not be denied. I 
saw each of you in the street yesterday, and 
thought you were coming; and, as I was disap- 
pointed of your coming near me then, I cannot 
let you go now without a word.” 

She did not perceive that they had no thought 
of desparting without a word; and she continued 
to multiply her inducements to come in as her 
friends looked more and more grave in contrast 
with her cheerfulness. She had no new designs 
of Hester’s to show; for poor Hester had not 
been very strong of late, and had found drawing 
make her head ache; but there was a message 


150 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


for Mr. Pye in her last letter, and some inqui < 
lies about Miss Melea, which Mr. Craig might 
like to hear. They would think that she never 
had anything to offer to her visitors but her 
daughter’s letters, but they knew a mother’s 
heart, and ” 

“ But do you never hear from your sons?” 
asked Mr. Craig. “ Does your daughter write 
her husband’s and brother’s news as well as her 
own ?” 

“ They write, I dare say,” said Mr. Pye, 
‘‘when times of business come round. On 
quarter-days, or once in the half-year, perhaps, 
when remittances have to be sent, Hester gives 
up the pen to one or other of your sons.” 

“Not exactly so,” replied the widow; “for 
they have nothing to do with the sending of my 
pension. That comes from quite another quar- 
ter; but on birth-days and Christmas-days 

Blessme, Mr. Pye, what can I have said that de- 
lights you so ? You look as if you were going 
to dance for joy.” 

“ So neither Edgar nor Philip sends you 
money! You have taken a load off my mind, I 
can tell you. But I was not going to deceive 
you, I assure you; I was going to tell you what 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


151 


we came for, as soon as I could get courage. 
But it is all right if you get your remittances 
from quite another quarter, as you say. Now 
you have only to tell us what that quarter is, 
and you are quite safe; for nobody suspected 
you. Of course, nobody could suspect you.” 

Mrs. Parndon looked from one face to the 
other, as she sat opposite to them, unable to 
make out anything from this explanation of 
Enoch’s rapture. Mr. Craig said, cheerfully, 

“ So far from wishing to do you any hurt, we 
come to put you on your guard, and help you 
to justify yourself in a matter in which you have 
evidently been imposed upon.” 

And he proceeded to inform her of several 
bad notes having been traced back to her, ex- 
pressing his conviction that nothing more would 
be necessary to clear herself than to give the 
date of the arrival of her quarter’s money. It 
was hoped too that she had some left, in order 
that the remaining notes might be compared 
with those already issued. 

The widow said there must be some great 
mistake somewhere. Her quarter’s money 
never came in bank-notes; and all that she had 
lately used came from the hands of her daugh- 


152 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


ter; so that those who suspected* anything 
wrong were completely out in their reckoning. 
If the notes were bad, they came, like other 
bad things, from London; and she supposed no 
one would take the trouble of tracing them there. 

Mr. Craig said he believed it would be neces- 
sary for Mrs. Morrison to say where she got 
them. 

“ I can tell you that,” replied the widow. 
“ She got them from one who takes more bank 
notes in a month than I spend in a year. She 
got them from her brother Philip, I know, on 
account of a little business she did for me with 
him. But I shall be very sorry if Philip has to 
bear the loss, just when his business is falling 
off, as he says. It would be a great loss, and 
I should be sorry it should fall upon him now.” 

He must do as you do, — recollect and tell 
where he got the notes,” observed Mr. Craig. 
“ Your wisest way will be to show us any that 
you may have left of the same parcel, and to 
make a list of their numbers of those you have 
parted with. By the help of this list, Philip 
will be able to trace the whole, I dare say.” 

Mrs. Parndon was terrified at the idea of be- 
ing cheated of any of her hoard. She brought 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


155 


out her pocket-book in a great hurry, and pro- 
duced the remaining notes. There was a ten, 
good; a five, also good; eleven ones, of which 
two were good, and all the rest counterfeit. 
Even she herself now began to see the improb- 
ability that Philip had taken so much bad money 
from chance customers. She turned very pale, 
and sat down without saying a word. 

Enoch buried his face in his hands, and Mr. 
Craig walked about the room considering what 
should be done next. At length Mr. Pye gave 
vent to some of his feelings. He drew near his 
old friend, and in an agitated whisper declared 
that Philip must have been taken in by some 
villain. 

“ That is very likely,” observed his mother. 
‘‘ He never could learn to tell a wise man from 
a foolish one, or an honest man from a knave. 
He was always stupid, and unlike the rest of 
his family; and, now, we shall all have to pay 
for his dulness.” 

Mr. Craig now stopped his walk between 
the door and the window to observe that it was 
not yet proved that the notes came from Philip. 

‘‘ No doubt of that,” said the widow, ‘^no 
doubt of that: and I brought th'is mischief upon 


154 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


him. Not that I knew anything about bad 
notes. God forbid! That Philip knows best 
about, and must take upon himself. But if I 
had but done as I should have done, — if I had 
but sold my guineas when they were at the high- 
est! I have blamed myself many a time since, 
for putting that off till I got very little more 
than they were worth when I laid them by; but 
1 little thought how much harm would come of 
the delay. O dear! O dear! to think that it is 
through his own mother that he has got into 
trouble; and that it might all have been pre- 
vented, if I had made a better bargain, and an 
earlier one! O dear! O dear!” 

Enoch besought her not to reproach herself 
so bitterly. He could not bear to hear it. She 

that had been the best of mothers Indeed he 

could not bear it. How could she foresee what 
gold would be worth and if Philip had got into 
the hands of sharpers, he would have sent out 
bad notes through other channels, if his mother 
had had no remittances to receive. Indeed, in- 
deed, she must not blame herself. 

Mr. Craig, who could neither approve of the 
mixed remorse of one of his companions, nor 
enter into the flattering sympathies of the other, 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


155 


once more interposed his doubts whether Philip 
had ever touched the notes on the table; and 
suggested that as it was certain that the offi- 
cers of the law were on the track of the forgers, 
and communications by post would be more tardy 
than the occasion required, the widow should 
go up to her children, to be a comfort to them 
in case of impending misfortune, and a witness 
of the transaction, as far as she was implicated 
in it. He was sure that thus only could she ob- 
tain any peace of mind while the affair was be- 
ing investigated. He supposed she would go 
without delay. 

‘‘I go! Bless you, Sir, what could I do.'^ 
I should be nothing but a trouble to them and 
everybody. I never had anything to do with 
such a matter in my life; and to have Philip re- 
penting, and Hester crying, and Edgar looking 
so angry at me for bringing him into trouble. 
Bless you, Sir, I am not fit for all this. I am 
only just fit to sit quiet at home, and think as 
little as I can of the troubles that are stirring 
abroad.” 

“ What is Mrs. Morrison fit for, then? 
There she is, in the very midst of all these 
troubles; and is she to look in vain for a moth- 
er’s support and sympathy ?” 


156 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


“ Why, to be sure, poor Hester has been sad- 
ly delicate of late, they tell me; and it seems as 
if she ought to have some one with her. But it 
cannot be me, because I am sure I could do her 
no good. I shall write, of course, very often; 
but still it seems as If she should have somebody 
with her.’’ 

And this was repeated in a louder voice to 
Mr. Pye, who took the intended hint; assuring 
the widow that she must not for a moment think 
of going, and then offering to undertake the 
journey himself. He explained, — 

“You know I am but a poor sort of person 
to send. The people in London are too much 
for me now.” 

O, dear! how could Mr. Pye be so much too 
modest ! 

“ Besides that I am growing old and fond of 
quiet,” said he, “there is another difficulty that 
spoils me for a man of business. I find I do 
not hear quite so well as I did, and this makes 
me afraid that I am blundering about my busi- 
ness; and that very being afraid makes my ears 
ring worse than ever; so that I look like an old 
fool, I know, instead of being fit to be a help to 
anybody.” 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


157 


This was the first time Enoch had been known 
to say a word about his deafness. He was now 
a little confounded at nobody assuring him that 
it was too trifling to signify. Instead of making 
a pretty speech like this, Mr. Craig came and 
sat down to say that he believed Enoch might be 
of essential service to the family of his old 
frieUd, if he wovld go prepared to do business 
in the best manner in his power. If he could 
not hear without a trumpet, why not use one ra- 
ther than make blunders, and fancy that he 
was looking like an old fool ? 

Mrs. Parndon interposed to protest against 
such an idea as anybody taking Mr. Pye for an 
old fool. 

I agree with you,” said Mr. Craig, that 
it is impossible such a notion should enter any 
one’s mind, if Mr. Pye does himself justice. 
His trumpet would be a perfect security.” 

Enoch, much hurt, muttered something about 
not being bad enough for that yet. He would 
go, however, and do his best to comfort Hester, 
to examine into the facts, and to estimate the 
evidence; and would write to Mrs. Parndon 
every day during his stay. As she began to melt 
at this proof of friendship, and to allude to the 


158 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


pains of separation, Mr. Craig thought it was 
time to leave the old folks to their unrestrained 
lamentations, and hastened to consult the Ber- 
keleys on the steps which Enoch should be ad- 
vised to take, on his arrival in London. 

“ Well, Mr. Pye, so you will write to me 
every day? Nothing else, I am sure, would 
support me during your absence and in the midst 
of affliction.” Thus sighed Mrs. Parndon. 

Enoch was much gratified, but ventured to 
speak of the higher supports of which he hoped 
she was not destitute now, any more than on 
former occasions of sorrow. 

Mrs. Parndon hoped not; but she felt now as 
if she had never known sorrow before. She had 
never before felt quite desolate; but her daugh- 
ter, being married away from her, was little bet- 
ter than no daughter at all ; and now, if her only 
son should be disgraced and lost, what would be- 
come of her, declining in the vale of years, 
and weary enough of loneliness without such 
cares as would henceforth embitter her solitude? 
These considerations were set forth so variously 
and so movingly, that the timid Enoch was im- 
pelled to do what seemed to him afterwards a 
very rash thing, though the widow was always 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


159 


ready to assure him that no act could be called 
rash which had been meditated (as she was sure 
this had been) for many years. He actually 
proposed to relieve her of her loneliness and half 
her cares, and after his long bachelor life, to 
venture upon a new state for her sake. He had 
always desired, he protested, to keep himself 
loose from earthly ties, the more as he felt him- 
self growing older; though it had cost him a ft’e- 
quent struggle when he had felt himself sensibly 
affected by Mrs. Parndon’s kindness; but now 
it seemed as if heaven had appointed him a fur- 
ther work before he was called away; and he 
trusted that, in consideration of this, he should 
be forgiven for resigning himself into a new 
bondage to the things of this world. Mrs. 
Parndon enlarged greatly on the advantage of 
this affair being settled at the present time, as 
all talk about any impropriety in their corres- 
ponding would be obviated by the relation in 
which they now stood to each other. 

At such a crisis as this, Enoch could not, for 
shame, be touchy or obstinate, even about using 
a trumpet He was prevailed on, — not to go 
and buy one; this was more than was expected 
or asked, — but to let Mrs. Parndon bring him 


160 


AN ARRANGEMENT. 


an assortment into his little back parlour, where 
he might choose one just to have in his pocket 
ready for use, if he should meet with any little 
difficulties on the road, or among the busy, in- 
considerate people in London. 

With what a swimming head and full heart 
did Enoch take his way home, to pack up his 
shirts, and appoint some able substitute to act in 
his shop, under Mrs. Parndon’s eye, in his ab- 
sence ! What a mixture of ideas crowded in 
upon her, when she had watched him from the 
door, and returned for a few moments to rumi- 
nate in her arm-chair I Her object gained ! — 
the object of so many years, and through the 
occasion of what she ought to be feeling as a 
great misfortune. She tried hard to feel it so, 
and to be melancholy accordingly; but the old 
proverb about the ill wind would come into her 
head every moment; and in turns with it occur- 
red an idea of which she really was half-ashamed 
— that as Parndon and Pye both began with a 
P, she should not have to alter the marks of her 
clothes when she married. It was one of 
the suitabilities which had frequently struck her 
while meditating the match; and it was too con- 
genial with her sense of aptness not to give 


THE wife’s recompense. 


161 


ner pleasure, even in the first hour of her new 
prospects. 


CHAPTER VII. 

the wife’s recompense. 

The event which Hester had long contem- 
plated by day, and anticipated in dreams by 
night, was now impending. Justice had been 
more speedy in its motions than Mr. Pye ; and 
when he arrived at Hester’s abode he found ail 
in confusion. Edgar was lodged in Newgate; 
Philip had been taken into custody, but releas- 
ed, on its being clearly proved that he had not 
touched, — that he coiild not have seen, — Hes- 
ter’s letter to her mother, after she had enclosed 
in it the good money he had brought in exchange 
for the guineas. Edgar had intercepted it, and 
helped himself with a part of the contents, substi- 
tuting notes, which he thought would do well 
enough for the Haleham people. Cavendish had 
been long under suspicion; and the whole gang 
had been marked out for observation for several 
weeks, before a great accession of evidence 
brought on the catastrophe, which every reason- 
VoL. II.— L 


162 THE wife’s recomfense. 

able person concerned must have known to bo 
inevitable. Those who were at work in Edgar’s 
upper rooms were not aware how long they had 
been watched; how they were followed in the 
dark hours, when they let themselves in by pri- 
vate keys ; how they were looked down upon 
through the skylight; and how, shut in as they 
were by oaken doors and a multitude of bolts, 
stray words of fatal import reached the ears of 
justice, and the jokes with which they beguiled 
their criminal labours were recorded against 
them The skylight was as well guarded against 
the possibility of entrance as they had supposed ; 
but it was found practicable to get so near it as 
to observe what was going on beneath it: and 
there were more persons than one who could 
swear as to which was the flannel jacket that 
Edgar wore ; by what means he cleared his hands 
of the printing-ink he used; and what part of the 
delicate process was confided exclusively to him, 
on account of his peculiar skill. Hester’s oc- 
cupation was also well understood; but she was 
regarded as being under her husband’s control, 
and neglected by the law as an irresponsible 
person. 

She was sitting, forlorn and alone, in her 


THE WIFE'S RECOMPENSE. 163 

usual place, when her old friend came to seek 
her. In this house, where every thing had of 
late worn an air of closeness and mystery, all 
was now open to the day. Philip had never 
been visited by the idea of giving his sister 
more of his society than usual; he was at 
work in his shop, as on any other day of the 
year. The little footboy was the only person to 
hear and answer, if his mistress should call. The 
doors were either ajar or stood wide, — the 
locks and bolts having been forced in the process 
of storming the House, and nobody thinking of 
having them mended. Plaster from the walls 
strewed the passage ; some rails of the staircase 
were broken; the marks of dirty feet were on 
all the floors. When Enoch went straight up to 
the top of the house, expecting to find Hester 
in the farthest corner of her abode, he was struck 
to the heart with a feeling very like guilt on 
seeing around him the wrecks of the unlawful 
apparatus. Broken jars of ink were on the 
floor, on which lay also the shivered glass of 
the sky-light, and the crow-bar with which the 
door had been forced. A copper-plate remain- 
ed on the grate over the extinguished coke fire 
in the furnace. The cupboards had been rifled; 


164 


THE wife’s recompense. 


and the poker was still stuck in a hole in the 
wall above the fire-place, through which some 
fragments of notes had been saved from the 
burning, after the forgers had believed that they 
had destroyed in the flames every vestige of the 
article they were engaged in manufacturing. 
Enoch gathered himself up as he stood in the 
middle of this dreary place, afraid of pollution 
by even the skirts of his coat touching anything 
that had been handled by the gang. He almost 
forgot the forlorn one he came to seek in horror 
at the iniquities of her husband and his asso- 
ciates. At length he recollected that the last 
place where she would probably be found was 
in a scene like this, and he descended to the 
rooms on the first story, though with little ex- 
pectation of finding anybody there, as the floors 
were uncarpeted, and the rooms thrown open, 
as if uninhabited. There, however, retired 
within a small dressing room, the only furnish- 
ed part of that story, he found his young friend 
sitting, surrounded by the apparatus of employ- 
ment. She had pen and paper beside her: her 
work was on her knee; a pencil in her hand; 
an open book within reach. A slight glance 
would have given the idea of her being fully 


THE WIFE S RECOMPENSE. 


165 


occupied; but a closer observation discovered to 
Mr. Pye that she was incapable of employment. 
Never had he felt compassion so painful as 
when he perceived the tremulousness of her 
whole frame, and met her swollen eyes, and 
gazed upon a face which appeared as if it had 
been steeped in tears for many days. She 
looked at him in mute agony, her voice being 
stifled in sobs. 

“My poor, unhappy young friend!” cried 
Enoch, involuntarily adopting the action with 
which he used to soothe Hester’s distresses in 
her childhood, and pressing her head against 
his bosom. “ My poor child! how we have all 
been mistaken about you, if this terrible news 
is true!” 

“Oh! it is all true,” she replied, “and I 
ought to bear it better; for I have been expect- 
ing it — oh! so very long; — ever since, ever 
since, — oh! Mr. Pye, you did not know how 
miserable you made me that day” 

“I make you miserable, my dear! I did not 
know that I ever made anybody unhap^jy; and 
I am sure I did not mean it.” 

“ O no, you could not help it. But do not 
you remember the bad note the day I left Hale- 


166 THE wife’s recompense. 

ham ? I have never had a moment’s peace from 
the hour you put that note into my hands. Nay, 
do not look so concerned: it was not that one 
note only; I have seen far, far too many since. 
I think I have seen nothing else for weeks; and 
they will be before my eyes, sleeping and wak- 
ing, as long as Hive; — I know they will. Oh, 
Mr. Pye, I am so wretched! ” 

Enoch could find nothing to say. Such an 
expression seemed to him very irreligious; but 
the countenance before him testified to its being 
too true. At length he hinted a hope that she 
found consolation in prayer. 

“No,” replied Hester. “ I am sure I must 
have been doing very wrong for a long time 
past; and that spoils the only comfort I could 
now have. But what coiild I do? I am sure 
I punished myself far more than I injured other 
people by keeping the secret so long. Edgar 
was my — my husband.” 

Enoch pronounced a solemn censure on the 
man who had led an innocent being into guilt 
as well as misery. 

“O do not, do not!” cried Hester. “If 
you had only seen his wretched look at me when 
they took him away by that door, you would be 


THE WIFE S RECOMPENSE. 


161 


more sorry for him than for anybody. I do 
think that all that is past, and all that is to come, 
rushed into his mind at that moment; and I am 
sure you need not wish anybody a worse pun- 
ishment than the recollection of any one day or 
night of this dreadful year. But to think of 
what has to come! and I can do nothing — not 
the least thing — to save him!” 

‘‘ Is there no explanation that you can give 
of any circumstance, my dear, that may be of 
use to him? Cannot you show how he was 
drawn in, or give an account of his employ- 
ments, in a way to soften the case?” 

Hester shook her head despairingly. She 
presently said — 

‘‘ I am sure I hope they will not ask me any 
questions. It would look ill if I made no an- 
swer; and if I speak, I never can say anything 
but the truth. I was always afraid from this 
that I should be the one to betray Edgar at last; 
but, thank God! I am spared that.” 

He betrayed himself, it appears, my dear 
So he is saved the misery of revengeful thoughts 
in his prison, I hope. How does he support 
himself?” 

“ He is very gloomy indeed; and — but I am 


168 


THE WIFE S RECOMPENSE. 


afraid it is very wrong to think so much abou. 
this as I do — he does not love me again as I 
always thought he would when the time should 
come for his being unhappy. It was what I 
looked to through everything. If it had not 
been for hoping this, I could not have gone on. 
— O, it is so very hard, after all I have done, 
that he will not see me; or, if he does for a few 
minutes, it is almost worse than not meeting.’’ 

‘‘Not see you, my dear! that is cruel. But 
let us hope that it is a sign of repentance. 
What do you intend to do? Will you go down 
to Haleham with me ? or will you think it your 
duty to stay here till — till — your husband may 
wish at last to see you?” 

Hester answered, somewhat impatiently, that 
she did not know what to do. What did it sig- 
nify now what she did? She hoped it would 
please God to decide it for her, and not let her 
live on long in her present wretchedness. Not 
all Enoch’s compassion could induce him to let 
this pass without rebuke. He schooled her 
very seriously, though kindly, upon her want 
of resignation under her griefs; and she bore 
the reproof with the docility of a child w^orn out 
by its tears, and ready to change its mood 


THE wife’s recompense. 


169 


through very weariness of that which had been 
indulged. She could not yet see, however, 
that her next duty would lead her to Haleham, 
or say that she wished her mother to come to 
her. She must remain where she was, and 
alone, at least till the trial. 

Enoch took care that she should not have 
more entire solitude than was good for her. He 
spent many hours of each day with her, striving 
to interest her in whatever might turn her 
thoughts from the horrors which impended. He 
did win a smile from her with the news of his 
intended relationship to her, and led her to in- 
quire about Rhoda Martin, and a few other old 
companions in whose happiness she had been 
wont to feel an interest. He did not despair of 
prevailing on her in time to settle among them. 
He did not venture to say anywhere but in his 
own mind, that her love for such a selfish wretch 
as Edgar must wear out; and, with her love, 
much of her grief. If she could be settled 
among the scenes of her happy youth, he did 
not despair of seeing her cheerfulness return, 
and her worn spirit resuming the healthiness of 
tone which had given way under too protracted 
a trial. He was grieved to find that she was 


170 


THE wife’s recompense. 


weak; but surely weakness never was more ex- 
cusable than in her case; and there was hope 
that tender treatment might yet fortify her mind 
when her sore trial should be over, and the im- 
pression of present events in some degree worn 
out. 

Mr. Pye’s exertions were not confined to 
watching and soothing Hester. Everything 
that could be done towards providing for Edgar’s 
defence, and preventing Philip’s character from 
being injured, was achieved by the old man with 
a vigour and discretion which astonished alJ 
who judged of him by first appearances, — who 
looked at his brown coat and close wig, and 
took him for a person too much given to enlarge 
upon one set of important subjects to have any 
talent to spare for matters of business. 

In consideration of his exertions for her chil- 
dren, Mrs. Parndon waived her delicate scru- 
ples about being seen to interfere in Mr. Pye’s 
concerns. She repaired to his abode every 
morning to rehearse her future duties; and the 
shop was never better conducted than while she 
superintended its business from the little back 
parlour. Ifit had not been for her own engrossing 
prospects, she would have severely felt the mor- 


THE WIFE S RECOMPENSE. 


171 


tification of having Hester’s marriage known 
to be an unhappy one. As it was, she had some 
trouble in bringing her spirits dov/n to the proper 
point of depression, when it was at length as- 
certained that there was no room for hope ; and 
that she must prepare to receive her miserable 
daughter, widowed in so dreadful a manner as 
to set all sympathy at defiance, and make even 
a mother dread to offer consolations which 
could appear little better than a mockery. 

There was even a deeper curiosity in Haleham 
about the fate of Cavendish than that of Edgar. 
Cavendish’s genius, however, proved equal to 
all emergencies. It ever appeared to rise with 
the occasion. By means best known to himself, 
he obtained tidings of the stirrings of justice in 
time to step quietly onboard an American packet, 
and to be out of reach of pursuit before his ac- 
complices and favourite pupil were stormed 
amidst their fortifications. His wife had nyste- 
rics, of course, in proportion to the occasion ; 
and, of course, became eager in a short time to 
secure for her children those advantages of edu- 
cation and society which could only be found in 
another hemisphere. " The family are now flou- 
rishing at New York, where, by their own ac- 


ri 2 THE wife’s recompense. 

count, are concentered all the talents and vir- 
tues requisite to a due appreciation of the genius 
of Mr. Cavendish, the accomplishments of Mrs. 
Cavendish, and the respective brilliant qualities 
of all the Masters and Misses Cavendish. The 
name of Carter is dropped, as it had been mixed 
up rather conspicuously with the awkward affair 
of the forgery. The Carter estate is supposed 
to have vanished with it, as Mr. Cavendish’s 
agent has no instructions about transmitting the 
proceeds. 

Philip got out of the affair with as little inju- 
ry as could be expected. Before the trial, he 
rubbed his forehead ten times a day, as the 
anxious thought recurred that his house was 
probably in too evil repute to be easily let. 
This objection was, however, speedily got over, 
as it was a convenient and well-situated abode ; 
so that its owner is visited by only very endur- 
able regrets for the past. The opening of his 
private shop-door sometimes reminds him how 
odd it is that he should expect to hear Hester’s 
footstep when she is as far off as Haleham, and 
he has occasionally a sigh and a mutter to 
spare for poor Edgar; but as he finds himself 
little the worse for the jeopardy he was placed 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


173 


in, he persuades himself that the less he thinks 
of uncomfortable things that cannot be helped, 
the better. He remembers enough, however, 
to make him cautious. It was exceedingly dis- 
agreeable to have to shut up shop, and be idle 
and melancholy on the day of the execution; 
and a terrible nuisance to have ballad-venders 
coming for weeks afterwards to cry Morrison’s 
dying confession under the window, in hopes 
of being bought off. To guard against these 
things happening again, he looks sharp to de- 
tect in his lodgers any attachment to double 
oak-doors and grated sky-lights. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED, 

The first person who succeeded in obtaining 
access to Hester was Rhoda Martin. The rea- 
son of this was the peculiar sympathy which 
arises between companions on the apparent op- 
position of their fates. Rhoda had believed 
Hester prosperous while she herself was suffer- 
ing ; and now she was beginning to be happy just 


1T4 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


v^lien her friend’s peace seemed to be over- 
thrown for ever. Hhoda was at last going to 
be married to her lover; and the relief from 
suspense was ail the more enjoyed from its hav- 
ing of late appeared almost impossible but that 
times must grow worse with farmer Martin and 
all his connexions. All the farmers, — everybody 
who had more to sell than to buy, — were dis- 
contented with the times; and, above all, com- 
plaining that a fixed character had been given 
to their adversity by the operations of the Bank 
of England on the currency. Cash payments 
had been resumed; and just afler, there was an 
evident relaxation of industry, an increase of 
difficulty in the various processes of exchange, 
and a consequent depression in ail branches of 
manufactures and commerce. To what extent 
this would have happened without the return to 
cash payments, no one could positively say, 
though most allowed, because they could not 
deny, that there had been an increasing and 
disastrous rise in the value of money for a long 
tune past, v/hich must be referred to a formei 
action on the currency. 

There were some who, whatever they might 
think of the causes of the present pressure upon 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


175 


large classes of society, believed themselves 
bound in conscience to quit the letter in order 
to preserve the spirit of their contracts, and that 
the proper time for doing this was at the mo- 
ment when the convertibility of the Bank of 
England paper was re-established. Among 
these was the land-owner who had Martin for a 
tenant. Generously forgetting that, in the days 
of a depreciated currency, his tenants had paid 
him no more than the nominal value of his rent, 
he now proposed to them that they should pay 
him one-third less than that nominal value. This 
which, he called justice, his tenants were nearly 
as ready as his admiring friends to call gener- 
osity; and all agreed in blaming the system 
under which justice assumed the character of 
generosity; or, in other words, under which in- 
justice might take place as a matter of course. 

No one was more sensible than Rhoda of the 
merits of her father’s landlord on this occasion, 
for to them she owed the conclusion of her long 
suspense. A part of what her father would 
have paid as rent to a grasping or thoughtless 
landlord, he could now spare to enable his 
daughter to marry. A small yearly allowance 
was sufficient, in addition to Chapman’s wages, 


176 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED 


to justify their coming together, hoping, aa 
they did, that affairs would work round to a 
better and more stable condition, from people 
being convinced of the evils of a fluctuating 
currency, and resolved to let the circulating 
medium adjust itself perpetually, under such 
checks only as should be necessary as safe- 
guards against fraud and rashness. Every- 
body hoped that the matter was so settled as to 
leave men’s minds at liberty to decide, in the 
course of the next fourteen years, whether the 
peculiar privileges of the Bank of England 
should be renewed on the expiration of its char- 
ter, or whether any new system of issuing money 
should be resorted to which might obviate any 
recurrence of past evils, without introducing 
any fresh ones. The very badness of the state 
of affairs in 1819 afforded hope that nothing 
worse could happen before 1833. So Chapman 
married, hoping for a gradual rise of wages, in 
proportion to the gradual rise of prices which 
his father-in-law looked to from the safe and 
cautious expansion of the currency which cir- 
cumstances would soon demand. They were 
far from anticipating more crises like those the 
country had undergone. They could not have 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


177 


believed, if they had been told, that in defiance 
of all the teachings of experience, there would 
ere long be another intoxication of the public 
mind from an overflow of currency, another 
panic, and, as a consequence, another sudden 
and excessive contraction. Still less would they 
have believed that the distress consequent on 
these further fluctuations would be ascribed by 
many to the return to cash payments in 1819. 

Martin’s landlord was not the only person in 
the neighbourhood of Haleham who behaved 
honourably about the fulfilment of a contract 
under changed conditions. Mr. Berkeley’s 
creditors put an end to liabilities which he had 
declared every day for months past to be endless. 
With all his toil and all his care, the task of 
paying his debts seemed to become heavier and 
more hopeless with every effort. Not only did 
he feel like the inexperienced climber of a moun- 
tain, to whom it seems that the ascent is length- 
ened in proportion as he passes over more ground. 
In his case, it was as if the mountain did actually 
grow, while the unhappy man who had bound 
himself to reach the top, could only hope that it 
would stop growing before his strength was 
utterly spent. As welcome as it would be to such 
VoL. II.— xM 


178 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


a climber to be told that he had engaged only to 
attain a certain altitude, and having reached it, 
need go on farther, was it to Mr. Berkeley 
to be suddenly absolved from his liabilities in 
consideration of his having paid in fact, though 
not in name, all that he owed. The only hope 
that had for some time remained of his being 
released with perfect satisfaction to himself and 
his creditors lay in the recovery of a debt which 
had been owing to the family from abroad for a 
series of years. While money had been only too 
plentiful at home, it was not thought worth while 
to incur the expense of a foreign agency to re- 
cover a debt which would be paid in a depreci- 
ated currency; but now the case was altered: 
the agency would cost no more, and the recov- 
ered money would be full one-third more valu- 
able; and efforts were accordingly made to ob- 
tain payment. But for the hope of this, Mr 
Berkeley’s spirits would have sunk long before. 

As it was, he took his way to D with more 

and more reluctance week by week, and month 
by month. He said oftener by his ov/n fire- 
side that he clearly foresaw his fate, — after a 
long life of honourable toil, to die in debt 
through the fault of the money-system under 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


179 


which he had had the misfortune to Jive. The 
best news his family looked for from him was 
that his affairs were standing still. It was much 
more frequently the case that disappointment 
came from some quarter whence money v/as 
looked for, and that part of a debt remained which 
it had been hoped would have been cleared off. 

A few days before Melea’s long-delayed mar- 
riage, — the day when Fanny was expected home 
for a short visit, a day when expectations of 
various kinds kept the family in a particularly 
quiet mood, Mr. Berkeley came home to dinner 
from D , looking very unlike the Mr. Ber- 

keley of late years. His wife was at work at 
the window, whence she could see some way 
down the road. Henry Craig was by Melea’s 
side, comfortably established for the day, as it 
was impossible that he could depart without 
having seen Fanny. Lewis was gardening 
under the window, so busily that he never once 
looked up till desired to meet his uncle at the 
gate, and take his horse. Melea, half-rising, 
began her habitual involuntary observation of 
his mode of approach. She did not know how 
to interpret it. His hands were in his pockets, 
and his walk was slov/, as usual; but he looked 


180 


arrangements completed. 


above and around him, which was a long-for- 
saken habit. He came straight in through the 
open doors, with his hat on, silently kissed his 
wife and daughter, pressed Craig’s hand, and, 
sitting down by the table, rested his head on 
his arms and wept passionately. The dismay 
of the w^hole party was inexpressible. It was 
long before their soothings, their respectful and 
tender caresses, had any other effect than to in- 
crease his emotion; and before he could com- 
mand himself to speak, they had had time to 
conceive of every possible misfortune that could 
befall them. Melea had passed her arm within 
Henry’s, as if to ask his support under what- 
ever might be impending, and was anxiously 
glancing towards her mother’s pale and grave 
face, when the necessary relief came. 

‘‘ Do forgive me,” exclaimed Mr. Berkeley, 
feebly. ‘‘ I have no bad news for you.” 

“Then I am sure you have some very good,” 
cried Melea, sinking into a chair. 

“ Thank God! I have. It is all over, my 
dear wife. We are free, and with honour. I 

need never set foot in D again, unless I like. 

Ah! you don’t believe me, I see: but they are 
the noblest fellows, — those creditors! Well, 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


181 


well; never mind if I did not always say so. I 
say so now. They are the noblest fellows!” 

“For forgiving you the remainder of your 
engagements?” 

“No, no. That is the best of it, — the beau- 
ty of the whole transaction. They say, and to 
be sure it is true enough, — they say that we 
have paid everything, and more than paid; and 
that they could not in conscience take a farth- 
ing more. And yet the law would give them a 
good deal more; — more than I could ever pay.” 

“ So you are out of debt, my love,” observed 
Mrs. Berkeley: “ not only free, but having paid 
in full. It is not freedom given as a matter of 
favour. Now we may be happy.” 

“ But surely,” said Melea, “ we shall always 
regard it as an act of favour, — of generosity. I 
am sure I shall always wish so to regard it.” 

“ Certainly, my love: so shall we all. I shall 
never rest till I have told them my feelings upon 
it far more intelligibly than I could at the time. 
It was their fault that I could not. They over- 
came me completely. — But you have not heard 
half the story yet. They leave me my life-in- 
surance, which I gave over for lost long ago; 
and they turn over that troublesome foreign 


182 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


debt to me to deal with as I think fit. When 
we have recovered that — ” 

“ Do you really expect to recover it?’’ 

“Lord bless you! to be sure I do. No 
doubt in the world of that ; and a very pretty 
thing it will be, I can tell you. With that, and 
the debts that remain to be got in nearer home, 
we shall be quite rich, my dear; quite indepen- 
dent of our children’s help, who v/ill want for 
themselves all they can get. And then, this 
life-insurance! It is a pretty thing to have to 
leave to them. What a capital piece of news to 
tell Fanny when she sets her foot on the thresh- 
old to-night, — that she is not to leave home 
any more! I thought of it all the way home.” 

“ My dear father!” 

“My dear girl, what can be more rational? 
You don’t think I shall let her You for- 

get that I shall want her at home more than 
ever now. I shall have nothing to do hencefor- 
ward, but what you put into my head. No more 
rides to D , thank God!” 

“ No,” said Melea, smiling; “we shall see 
you turn into the quiet old gentleman, I suppose ; 
basking in the garden, or dozing in the chimney 
corner? Father, do you really suppose you will 
subside into this kind of life?” 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


186 


“ Why, I cannot tell till I try. To be sure, 
there is a good deal to be done first. The whole 
management of the jail yonder wants sitting to 
rights, from the lowest department to the high- 
est. Then, the funds of the Blind Charity — ” 

‘‘ But you are never to set foot in D 

again, you know.” 

Aye, aye. That is on the side where the 
bank stands. Enter it by the other end, and it 
is not like the same place, you know. Surely, 
child, you cannot expect me to sit at home all 
day, catching flies to keep myself awake?” 

Melea disclaimed any such wish or expecta- 
tion. 

Poor Lewis must be taken better care of 
now,”icontinued Mr. Berkeley. ‘‘We must look 
about us to see how he is to be settled in life. 
What shall we do with you, Lewis? Choose 
anything but to be in a bank, my boy. Choose 
anything else, and we will see what we can do 
for you.” 

“ You need not choose at this very moment,” 
said Melea, laughing, observing that Lewis 
looked from his uncle to his aunt, and then to 
Mr. Craig. “ My father will give you a lit- 
tle time to think about it, I dare say.” 


184 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


‘‘ Why, one must; but it is rather a pity,” 
said Mr. Berkeley, half-laughing. “ This is one 
of the days, — with me at least, — when one sees 
everything so easily and clearly, that it seems a 
pity not to get everything settled.” 

Mr. Craig mentioned as a matter of regret 
that it was past twelve o’clock, — too late to have 
Melea married on this bright day. Mr. Berkeley 
joined in the laugh at his predilection for des- 
patch. 

It proved, however, that there was less need 
of haste in laying hold of a bright season than 
formerly. The brightness did not pass away from 
Mr. Berkeley’s mind with the few hours which 
he had assigned as its duration. The next day 
and the next, and even Melea’s wedding-day, 
brought no clouds over the future, as it lay be- 
fore his gaze. He could even see now that the 
same changes which had injured his fortunes 
had not been without advantage to some of his 
family. Horace had saved more from his salary 
every year. Mr. Craig found his curacy an 
advantageous one in comparison with what it 
had formerly been, though there was no altera- 
tion in the terms on which he held it; and his 
school was made to answer very well, though 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


18 . 


its terms were nominally lowered to meet the 
exigencies of the time. Fanny and Melea had 
been able to contribute from their stipends more 
than they had anticipated to the comfort of their 
parents, besides having a little fund at their dis- 
posal' when they took their places, the one at 
her father’s fireside, and the other at the head 
of her husband’s establishment. Some years 
before, the stipends of all would have barely 
sufficed for their own immediate wants. If their 
father suffered extensive injuries under the sys- 
tem which all saw was wrong, it was certain 
that his children derived some, though not a 
counterbalancing, advantage from it. 

Other very bright lights spread themselves 
over Mr. Berkeley’s future as often as he 
thought of the restoration of his daughters to his 
neighbourhood. All his convictions of the piti- 
ableness of such a marriage as Melea’s melted 
away in the sunshine of her countenance; and 
when he looked forward to the perpetual morn- 
ing and evening greetings of his eider daughter, 
he declared that he expected to be perfectly 
happy till his dying day; — perfectly happy in a 
state far inferior to that which he had quitted 
for something better; — perfectly happv without 


186 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


the mansion, the rosary, the library, which he 
had found insufficient in addition to all that he 
now possessed. His family knew him too well 
to hope that he would ever be perfectly happy; 
but they perceived that there was hope of a 
nearer approximation to such a state than before 
his adversity; and this was enough for their 
happiness. 

Mr. Pye and Mrs. Parndon had fixed the 
same day for their wedding that was to unite 
Mr. Craig and Melea. While the Berkeley 
family were amusing themselves with this coin- 
cidence, however, the fact got abroad, as such 
things do; and the consequence was that Enoch 
came in an agony of humility to beg pardon, 
and change the day. His only idea had been 
to defer it for a week or so, till Mr. Craig 
should have returned from his wedding excur- 
sion; but Mrs. Parndon proved, as usual, the 
cleverest planner of the two. She observed on 
the decorum of the older couple being married 
first, and on the advantage of deviating only one 
day from the proposed time, instead of a whole 
week. They were therefore married the day 
before the young people, and Mrs. Pye’s seed- 
cake and currant-wine were pronounced upon 


ARRANGEMENTS COMPLETED. 


187 


befoie Mrs. Craig’s doors were thrown open 
to the friends who came to wish her the hap- 
piness she deserved. There were smiles in 
abundance in both cases; — of wonder at the 
resolution with which Mr. Pye handled his 
trumpet, and of amusement at the pretty and 
proper bashfulness of his bride: — smiles also 
of true sympathy and joy in the happiness of 
the young pair, who by having been, as far 
as they could, the benefactors of all, had come 
to be regarded as in some sort the property 
of all. Even Hester felt as if they belonged 
to her, and must have her best wishes. Even 
she could smile when she offered those wishes; 
and the first long conversation she held was with 
Fanny on the past trials of these lovers, and on 
their future prospects. During this her tempo- 
rary cheerfulness, — which afforded promise of 
a more permanent state of it, — there was not a 
grave face in any house in Haleham where the 
Craigs and the Berkeleys were known. It was 
a considerable time before Mr. Berkeley found 
the want of something to do. Congratulation 
was now a welcome novelty, the zest of which 
he owed to his past troubles; and every one 
who observed his quick step in the streets of 


188 


SUMMARY. 


Haleham, and his indefatigable vigour in ac- 
knowledging the attentions of its inhabitants, 
perceived how he enjoyed this novelty. He 
liked to be told that he had taken a new lease 
of life on the marriage of his daughter; and, 
except that of his many schemes none were of 
great magnitude, it might have appeared that 
he took the assurance for fact. His family 
were, however, fully aware that his plans were 
all such as might be easily resigned, though 
they gave an aspect of youthful activity to his 
advancing age. 


SUMMARY 

Of Principles illustrated in this and the pre- 
ceding Volume, 

In proportion as the processes of exchange become 
extensive and complicated, all practicable economy 
of time, trouble and expense, in the use of a circu- 
lating medium, becomes desirable. 

Such economy is accomplished by making ac- 
knowledgments of debt circulate in the place of the 
actual payment: that is, substituting credit, as 
represented by bank-paper, for gold money. 


SUMMARY. 


189 


The adoption of paper money saves time by 
making the largest sums as easily payable as the 
smallest. 

It saves trouble by being more easily transferable 
than metal money. 

It saves expense by its production being less 
costly than that of metal money, and by its setting 
free a quantity of gold to be used in other articles 
of production. 

A further advantage ot paper money is, that its 
destruction causes no diminution of real wealth, 
like the destruction of gold and silver coin; the 
one being only a representative of value, — the 
other also a commodity. 

The remaining requisites of a medium of ex- 
change, viz. — that it should be what all sellers are 
willing to receive, and little liable to fluctuations 
of value, — are not inherent in paper as they are in 
metallic money. 

But they may be obtained by rendering paper 
money convertible into metallic money, by limiting 
in other ways the quantity issued, and by guarding 
against forgery. 

Great evils, in the midst of many advantages, 
have arisen out of the use of paper money, from 
the neglect of measures of security, or from the 
adoption of such as have proved false. Issues of 
inconvertible paper money have been allowed to 
a large extent, unguarded by any restriction as to 
the quantity issued. 


190 


StJlVlMAiiV. 


As the issuing of paper money is a profitable 
business, the issue naturally became excessive 
when the check of convertibility was removed, 
while banking credit was not backed by sufficient 
security. 

The immediate consequences of a superabun- 
dance of money, are a rise of prices, an alteration 
ill the conditions of contracts, and a consequent 
injury to commercial credit. 

Its ulterior consequences are, a still stronger 
shock to commercial credit, the extensive ruin of 
individuals, and an excessive contraction of the 
currency, yet more injurious than its excessive ex- 
pansion. 

These evils arise from buyers and sellers bear- 
ing an unequal relation to the quantity of money 
in the market. 

If all sold as much as they bought, and no more, 
and if the prices of all commodities rose and fell in 
exact proportion, all exchangers would be affected 
alike by the increase or diminution of the supply of 
money. But this is an impossible case; and therefore 
any action on the currency involves injury to some, 
while it affords advantage to others. 

A sudden or excessive contraction of the curren- 
cy produces some effects exactly the reverse of the 
effects of a sudden or excessive expansion. It 
lowers prices, and vitiates contracts, to the loss of 
the opposite contracting party. 


SUMMARY. 


191 


But the infliction of reverse evils does not com- 
pensate for the former infliction. A second action 
on the currency, though unavoidably following the 
first, is not a reparation, but a new misfortune. 

Because, the parties who are now enriched are 
seldom the same that were impoverished by a for- 
mer change; and vice versa: while all suffer from 
the injury to commercial credit which follows upon 
every arbitary change. 

All the evils which have arisen from acting ar- 
bitrarily upon the currency, prove that no such 
arbitrary action can repair past injuries, while it 
must inevitably produce further mischief. 

They do not prove that liability to fluctuation is 
an inherent quality of paper money, and that a 
metallic currency is therefore the best circulating 
medium. 

They do prove that commercial prosperity de- 
pends on the natural laws of demand and supply 
being allowed to work freely in relation to the cir 
culating medium 

The means of securing their full operation re- 
main to be decided upon and tried. 


THE END 



!| LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 

les. Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

166. 20,000 Leagues Under 

the Sea, by Verne. . . .20 
Anti-Slavery Days... .20 
Beauty’s Daughters.. .20 
169 . Beyond the Sunrise.. . .20 
IS O. Hard Times, Dickens .20 
in. Tom Cringle’s Log. .. .20 

lys. Vanity Fair 30 

K3. Underground Russia. .20 
174, Middlemarch, Eliot.. .20 

j Do., Part II 20 

i ITO. Sir Tom, Mrs Oliphant .20 
^6. Pelham, by Lytton. . . .20 

A?. The Story of Ida 10 

: Madcap Vio’ct, Black .20 

i The Little '’/ilgrim 10 

i IBO. Kilmeny, »y Black. . . .20 
Whist or Bumble- 

I ( puppy r 10 

1 1S2, The Beautiful Wretch .20 

1 ISl Her Mother’s Sin 20 

i llW. Green Pastures and 
j ■ Piccadilly, Black .. . .20 

,1B5. The Mysterious Island .15 

Do , Part TT 15 

i Do., Part III 16 

186. Tom Brown at Oxford .15 

IIl » Part II 15 

1 W. Thicker than Water. . .20 
[ In Silk Attire, Black. .20 

I $9. Scottish Chiefs, P’t I. . 20 

: Do., Part II 20 

190. Willy Reilly, Carleton .20 
ilOl. The Nautz Family... .20 
jf92. Great Expectations. . . .20 
193. Pendennis, Thackeray .20 

Do., Part II 20 

i ?)4. Widow Bedott Papers .20 
! 195. Daniel Deronda, Eliot. .20 

Do., Part II 20 

196. AltioraPeto, Oliphant .20 
i 197. By the Gate of the Sea .15 
1198. Tales of a Traveller.. .20 
, 199. Life and Voyages of 

\ Columbus P’t I. .20 

Do. (Irving), Part II.. . .20 

200. The Pilgrim’s Progress .20 

201. Martin Chuzzlewit. .. .20 

' Do., P?’-^ II 20 

202. Theoph xstusSuch... .10 

203. Disarn?rd,M. Edwards .15 
Eugene Aram, Lytton .20 

*05. The S panish Gypsy 

1 i ; and -uther Poems 20 

pOB. Cast Up by the Sea. . . .20 
lr2Q7, Mill on the Floss, P’tl .15 
Do. (Eliot), Part 11 15 

208. Brother Jacob, Eliot. .10 

209. The Executor 20 

1210. American Notes 15 

211. TheNewcomes, Parti ,20 

Do., Part II 20 

1 212. The Privateersman. . . .20 
, 213. The Three Feathers. .20 

iS214. Phantom Fortune 20 

j 215. Red Eric, Ballantyne. ,20 

1 216. Lady Silverdale’s 
' Sweetheart, Black... .iQ 

217. The Four Macnicols. *10 

218. Mr, Pisistratus Brown .10 

219. Dombey & Son, Part I 20 

Do., Part II 20 

220. Book of Snobs 10 

221. Grimm’s Fairy Tales.. .20 

222. The Disowned, Lytton .20 

223. Little Dorrit, Dickens. .20 

Do., Part II 20 

224. Abbotsford and New- 

stead Abbey, Irving. .10 

225. Oliver Goldsmith 10 

226. The Fire Brigade 20 

227 Rifle and Hound in 

Ceylon 20 

228. Our Mutual Friend . . . .2o 

Do. Part II 20 

229. Paris Sketches 15 

230. Belinda, Broughton... .20 

231. Nicholas Nickleby 20 

Do., Part II 20 

232 Monarch Mincing Lane .20 

233. Eight Years Wander- 

ing in Ceylon, Baker .20 

234. Pictures from Italy 15 

235. Adventures of Philip. .15 

Do., Part II .15 

236. Knickerbocker His- 

tory of New York .. . .20 

237. The Boy at Mugby 10 

238. The Virginians, P’t I. .20 

Do., Part II 20 

239. Erling the Bold 20 

240. Kenelm Chillingly 20 

241. Deep Down . . . . ... .20 

242. Samuel Brohl & Co. .. .20 

243. Gautran, by Farjeon.. .20 

244. Bleak House, Part I.. .20 

Do., Part II 20 

245. What Will He Do Wi’ It .20 

Do., Part II 20 

246. Sketches of Young 

Couples .10 

247. Devereux, Lytton 20 

248. Life of Webster, 2 pts. .30 

249. The Crayon Papers. . . .20 

250. The Caxtons, Lytton. ,15 

Do., Partn 15 

251. Autobiography of An- 

thony Trollope .20 

252. Critical Reviews, by 

Thackeray 10 

253. Lucretia, Lytton, P’tl .20 

254. Peter, the Whaler 20 

255. Last of the Barons.. .15 

Do., Part II 15 

256. Eastern Sketches 15 

257. All in a Garden Fair. .20 

258. File No. 113, Gaboriau .20 

259. The Parisians, Lytton. .20 

Do., Part II 20 

260. Mrs. Darling’s Letters .20 

261. Master Humphrey’s 

Clock .10 

262. Fatal Boots, Thackr’y .10 

263. The Alhambra, Irving .15 

264. The Pour Georges. .. .10 

265. Plutarch’s Lives, 5 pts 1.00 

266. Under the Red Flag... ,10 | 

267. The Haunted House.. .10 

268. When the Ship Comes 

Home 10 

269. One False, both Fair. . .20 

270. Mudfog Papers 10 

271. My Novel, by Bulwer- 

Lytton. 3 parts 60 

272. Conquest of Granada.. .20 

273. Sketches by Boz 20 

274. A Christmas Carol 15 

275. lone Stewart, Linton.. .20 

276. Harold, Lytton, Part 1 .15 

Do.,PartII 15 

277. Dora Thome 20 

278. Maid of Athens 20 

279. The Conquest of Spain .10 

280. Fitzboodle Papers 10 

281. Bracebridge Hall 20 

282. The Uncommercial 

Traveler 20 

283. Roundabout Papers... .20 

284. Rossmoyne, Duchess. .20 

285. A Legend of the Rhine .10 

286. Cox’s Diary 10 

287. Beyond Pardon, ,20 

288. Somebody’s Luggage, 

and Mrs. Lirriper’s 
Lodgings 10 

289. Godolphin, lytton 20 

290. Salmagundi, Irving 20 

291. Famous Funny Fel- 

lows, Clemens .20 

292. Irish Sketches 20 

293. The Battle of Life 10 

294. Pilgrims of the Rhine .15 

295. Random Shots, Adder .20 

296. Men’s Wives 10 

297. Mystery of Edwin 

Drood, by Dickens. . . .20 

298. Reprinted Pieces from 

C. Dickens 20 

299. Astoria, by W. Irving. .20 

300. Novels by Eminent 

Hands 10 

301. Spanish Voyages 20 

302. No Thoroughfare 10 

303. Character Sketches... ,10 

304. Christmas Books .20 

305. A Tour on the Prairies ,10 

306. Ballads of Thackeray.. .15 

307. Yellowplush Papers. . . .10 

308. Life of Mahomet, P’tl .15 

Do., Part II 15 

309. Sketches and Travels 

in London, Thack’ray .10 

310. Life of Goldsmith 20 

311. Capt. Bonneville 20 

312. Golden Girls, Alan Muir .20 

313. English Humorists ... .15 

314. Moorish Chronicles... .10 

315. Winifred Power .20 

316. Great Hoggarty Dia- 

mond 10 

317. Pausanias, Lytton 15 

318. The New Abelard 20 

319. A Real Queen 20 

320. The Rose and the Ring .20 

321. Wolfert’sRooet, Irving .10 

1 322. Mark Seaworth 20 



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